Four: Break Me Down
by thefactionlessauthor
Summary: The feelings don't disappear, they become stronger. The need to be around her, to touch her, to kiss her... I don't want to walk away from her, or try to forget her. I don't want to stay away from her because I'm afraid of these feelings. My decision is made. ...alcohol wasn't the decider here. (M for lang. / scenes)
1. Age

**A/N: This story is in Tobias's point of view. It may not be as regularly updated as Break Me Down, but I will try to keep up so they're somewhat at the same place. I should have a new chapter up for BMD in a little while, I could not post on Christmas.**

CHAPTER 1 – AGE

It's hard to believe I've finished schooling.

Nineteen years old. I never have to go back home. I still have to get ready for today though; we're reopening the pit... I didn't care too much to ask when I heard something happened on Eric's watch.

I wasn't here all summer; Zeke, his family, and I ended up leaving Chicago for their summer house so I didn't have to go home.

Needless to say, my father wasn't happy.

Just thinking about him puts me down, so with a sigh I stand up and stretch the sleep from my muscles. I head to the bathroom, running the water and strip out of my clothes. I step under the spray, feeling the warm water loosen my muscles more, thankful for the pounding of it on my skin because it's loud in my ears; it blocks out my thoughts.

I don't need to be down there for any specific time, regardless of what Eric's told me. Tori wouldn't care and Eric's just pissed that I'm even a leader. Not that I really wanted to be either, but Eric needs someone to make him get down from his high horse every once in a while.

I wash up but end up spending more time just standing under the water than anything else. When I shut the spray off, I step out, wrap a towel around my waist, and head back out into the other room to get dressed.

My apartment is a little shabby, it probably always will be but I liked how open it was when we got to choose where we'd be staying.

There's a large window that takes up most of the wall behind my bed; the main room was the largest, so I also made it the bedroom. The kitchen isn't much larger than the bathroom, but I hardly ever use it so it doesn't bother me at all. I get dressed fairly quickly; throwing on my jacket, I head down to the main area of the pit.

Last night was my first night back, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it here. _Nostalgia, probably_. I remember how happy I was the moment my father shipped me off to this place. He expected me to be ungrateful and miserable, to actually want to go back home. How wrong he was. Some of my greatest memories happened in this place; befriending Zeke, beating Eric in our first fight, growing stronger by the day... I couldn't have asked for a better escape.

It's just the times that my father tries to put me back on the leash that cripple me.

I'm old enough now to decide whether or not I want to return home. My choice is obvious. And despite all of that, including Eric being an asshole towards me – though I can usually shut him out – I've had the time of my life here for the last three years.

"I told you to be down here at eight," Eric says irritably. I just shrug.

"Tori said there was no specific time," I reply, maybe a little too smug. He's not happy with me, but then again when is he ever?

"Well Tori's not here right now."

"You're also not the only one in charge, Eric. Or did you forget I'm just as worthy of this position as you are?" Definitely smug. He's practically glaring daggers into me now, however, I could care less. It's my first day back, I'm not about to let Eric think he can tighten the collar. I see Zeke jumping down from the hole, landing unceremoniously in the net. He's howling at the top of his lungs, with the sound echoing even louder off the walls.

"My man, Four!" Zeke says, jumping out of the net, "you're actually awake before noon!"

"Yeah, well I would say that was your fault all summer," I retort. He's smirking at me like he's the greatest damn thing and I can't help but try to get a swing in. He was constantly setting me up with some new girl on double dates – somehow they always ended of him making out with the girl he brought while the girl he set me up with was offended by something I had said or done earlier on. And we could never leave until they were ready to part. So long story short, I'm not the kindest guy around.

"You need to work on your game," Zeke jokes, punching my shoulder. Another body lands in the net, and I notice it's Uriah, "God bless the girl that's tough enough to put up with your sorry ass."

"I doubt anyone's up for the task," Uriah says, joining us, "he's the Legendary Four. Too much of a hot head." They burst into laughter as I roll my eyes at the title I've been given. _Legendary_ _Four_; four fears. About two summers ago, Zeke, Uriah, and I ended up betting each other we couldn't answer every question we were asked – personal or not. Either we answered truthfully or we passed, there was no making up any stories. Uriah won the game, he didn't skip any. But they found out about my fears. I only had four that I knew of – both of them had at least ten.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" I ask.

"So?" Uriah grins, "don't act so perfect, you skipped a bunch of times."

"It's only the first day," I say, shaking my head, "and I didn't skip nearly as often as you, Shauna, Marlene, or Tori."

"You still skipped." He shrugs, "besides, it's not like you're gonna tell on me."

"Don't be so sure about that."

"You don't care enough to tell on me," Uriah says, shaking his head at me. He turns to Zeke then, "Hey, some of us want to go zip lining soon, you gonna join?"

"When were you thinking?" Zeke asks.

"Maybe in about a week or so?" I leave them to it, since I have no desire to join them on their suicide mission. Zip lining, the way they do it, means hundreds of feet above the city at abrupt angles and between buildings. All at night, which makes it harder to see and only adds to my terror.

They don't even bother trying to convince me anymore. If I can avoid my fears, I will.

XxXxX

I'm not surprised when I see so many familiar faces at the pit; it's the center of life around here. Especially for those of us who are dauntless enough to jump off the buildings above to get in.

For the last hour it's been filling up. Out by the net where nobody really hangs out for too long, I've been watching people as they land, exhilarated and terrified. When Zeke and his friend, Amar, brought me here for the first time I didn't jump first. I made Zeke go, but he only promised to jump first if I did right after. It had to have taken me a good five minutes before I found even an ounce of courage to throw myself forward.

I've decided to stay in the upper level tonight, while Eric and Tori take care of the lower.

I stay by the hole in the dark, away from the noise so I can have some peace for a while. Nobody else has really come in, so I assume everyone is here.

But a grey blur catches my eye just as I'm about to head back into the main room; another person in the net. A girl; I've never seen her here before. I didn't even hear her scream on the way down.

She's laughing.

It's kind of amusing; I watch as her fingers tighten and untighten around the rope. Her hair is sprawled out across her face, some of it hanging down through the net. She looks ordinary; definitely too new to have ever been here before. She's a stiff.

The net looks huge compared to her, that's how small she is from where I'm standing. I don't think she even sees me up here. There's a scream from above. She moves but not fast enough as I see an even smaller heap of limbs land beside her.

It's Christina. She's laughing, holding her chin; I assume from smacking into the new girl, "Damn, I thought you had gotten out of this thing already." Christina's the first one out. She helps the girl down, and even from up here I can see her knees shaking with adrenaline.

I don't stick around much after they're out of the net; I head back out into the main room, watching from above. Zeke and Uriah are off, probably trying to hit on girls, so I have nowhere to be.

I spot Christina again, at the top of the stairs with the stiff ride beside her, looking sorely out of place. Eric calls them over, which has me interested since this girl has no idea what she's getting into here.

He doesn't look impressed – if anything, he's looking at her like she's fresh meat. But the way she talks, even though I can't hear her, she looks confident. It's almost surreal watching Eric not intimidating a stiff.

I see Tori stalking towards them; my first thought is that this probably won't end well, because of Tori's hard nature, but she looks impressed. Watching people isn't what I usually do, but Christina never usually brings anyone that clean in. What I wouldn't give to know what she just said to Tori to make her back off like that.

It seems that Eric and Tori have the pit all taken care of, so I head back to my apartment to retire for the night.

XxXxX

I head to Tori's apartment early the next morning.

She's drawing my tattoo today; it's only about five in the morning, but I want to get this done first then head down to the pit before Eric so I can get some exercise time in... without being bothered.

When I get there, Tori doesn't look thrilled to be up this early but I know she'll do this for me. Though she'll never admit it if you asked, she's wanted me to get a tattoo since I met her. I just told her I needed time to think about it. I don't want anything meaningless, or just for looks.

"Everything's set up, I just need sketch it out," she says, "start talking."

"Hi to you, too," I say, smirking. She gives me a look, like she wants to smack me, but instead turns to go back inside. I follow her; her apartment always makes me uneasy because of the lack of windows. She has no windows in the main room, and it's not quite as big as mine either. The tight feeling in my chest swells at the thought; this is not the time to get claustrophobic.

As I explain to her what I want, though straying away from what it means, she sketches away on a sheet of transfer paper. She has sheets filled with different designs, and as I look at them more I try to incorporate them with mine. It's quite a large tattoo now, but it's perfect.

"Where the hell am I tattooing this?" She asks when she's done. "You do know how big this is going to be, right? It's going to take a few sessions. I may only get the outline done today."

"That's fine," I say, and she looks at me. With a sigh, she shakes her head giving me an unsurprised look. Probably because she knows I'm stubborn – or she thinks I'm insane and she's used to it.

"Where?" Where do I want this tattoo? I don't want the whole of it to wrap around, I want it to be easily seen should I ever have a reason to show it. My back is probably the best option, though I won't be able to see it myself.

"My back," I reply after a moment. I don't need to see it, I just need to know it's there.

XxXxX

My fists collide with the sturdy fabric and the tough material beneath, continuously. I'm so used to the pain that I don't have to stop, I just shake my heads out before the next hit and go.

I'm the only one in the training room right now, it's still too early for most to be awake and around anyways. Tori finished the outline fairly quickly, looking mighty proud of herself. I was afraid, at first, that she tattooed something else but I know she wouldn't do that to me.

She just liked how well it looked so far. Her words, not mine.

The light stinging in my back from the needle keeps me focused, makes me hit harder. I focus on that and I don't think about anything else. Fighting out of anger is how you get hurt, and fighting out of focus is how you get knocked out. So I don't think about anything but building up strength.

I don't even hear the footsteps over the sound of my practice, but when a hand clasps onto my shoulder I can't help but turn around and grip the hand in a tight hold. It's Eric.

"What the hell was that for?" I hiss, trying to catch my breath.

"Someone's jumpy," Eric says, yanking his arm back. "Or sore."

"Because you scare me," I feign a slight tremble, and drop his hand roughly. I know he's referring to my tattoo; some of it can't be covered by a shirt. "What do you want?"

"Tori says Max and some of the others need us. Though I can tell them you have no interest in joining us—,"

"Fat chance," I say, shoving past him. "I'd say tell them I'll be there, but knowing you my message won't get across so I'll let Tori know." So I leave the training room and go to find her.

XxXxX

I'll never know – nor never care to know – how Eric gets the pit to fill up so much. The only good thing that I get out of it is being able to sneak away for hours at a time and find some peace. With so many faces, and Eric practically drinking himself sick on most nights, I never have to worry about getting away.

I never ask him what he's got planned. I don't care enough to bother. But from Tori, I know Eric's got a fight planned. At least he stopped trying to get me to fight him. I could take him easily, but I don't particularly care for unnecessary violence.

Plus, my back is still kinda sore from the tattoo.

But I've kept a close eye on Eric since new faces – stiffs, or clean – have been showing up. Eric, is by no stretch of the imagination, a nice person. Regardless of newcomers or not. I don't feel like dragging some poor, unaware teenager to medical help.

I must have spoken too soon, because I watch him go into the back. My curiosity gets the best of me, since he's always out here, where the center of life takes place. It's not often that Eric goes back there – I've seen him do this three times now. All have ended with him coming back out, knuckles bruised or bloody.

And as I look around, I spot Uriah with his other friends and I noticed there were two more in his group much earlier. They're gone now. Would Eric have gone after two? I remember one being a male, maybe the other was female.

Either way I'm going to try and see what he's after. So I head back, trying not to shove through people though it gets me through faster. I hear some curses thrown at me, but I don't really care. As I get away from the noise, I begin to hear a couple voices down the hall. I hear some sort of struggle – it sounds like a girl. The first voice I actually hear, I register as Eric's. If he's attacking a girl, this would definitely be the first time I've walked into it. I don't wait until I'm around the corner to yell out for him.

"Eric!" He never lurks in the back so I know he is after something - or in this case _someone_. I'm not close enough to see who that person is until I'm a few feet away, peaking over his shoulder.

There's a girl, about a foot shorter than he is, trembling. Her eyes remind me of a deer's, staring into a pair of headlights. I'm unaware of how close Eric is to her until she takes a cautious step back. She still has a whole hallway behind her, despite how long this one already is, yet I know - and I'm sure she knew - that there was no way she'd make it. Eric may not be as fast as me, but something tells me he's faster than her. He would have stopped her somehow, "what are you doing to her?"

I really see her then. She's the stiff I watched land in the net the other night. _Of course_ it's her.

Her trepidation flows like waves in this confined corridor, wrapping around the three of us like thick rope. Eric can sense her fear - that's the only reason he's cornering her. I can sense her fear because she's looking at me like I'm her savior.

I wish she wouldn't look at me like that.

"Relax, Four," Eric grumbles, peering at me over his shoulder, "I caught her lurking back here." This time, I try to get an even better, closer, look at her while Eric is half-facing me. She's smaller than I thought. About a good foot and a half shorter than me with long, blonde hair and bright, questioning eyes. She's an observer, I can see the way her eyes are analyzing the both of us in front of her.

I don't think she was lurking, but Eric has his mind set and I know there's nothing else I can do but try and free the noose. I sigh, "new?" I play along since she's a piece of fresh meat right now. As far as I can tell, he only grabbed her. At least he didn't hit her, so I got here just in time.

Eric nods to answer my question. I don't want to be a mean leader, especially not the way Eric handles things around here. The best I can manage, since she already looks scared to death, is a minor warning, "you can't be back here without one of the leaders. We keep better track of people that way."

The look again. I suppress my groan of irritation and let out another huff of breath. She's in this situation, and it could have been avoided. I suddenly wonder how she got herself into this.

"Explain the rules to her, would ya' Four? I've got a fight to watch," Eric says, shoving past me to leave. I can't help but roll my eyes, since he's all for setting rules but never for reinforcing them himself. I wait until his footsteps sound further away before returning my gaze to the small girl in front of me.

I want to ask her how old she is since she looks younger from when I first saw her, but I know for a fact if she passed Eric's inspection somehow, she's old enough. Instead I ask her, "You alright?" She looks sturdier now as she nods; I take it she knows I'm not gonna hurt her. I should get her back to the main room, "come on." I don't hear her walking behind me at first, but then the soles of her shoes slap against the cement as she jogs up to my side.

She's not much of a talker, that's for sure. I don't even know what her voice sounds like but I imagine it's soft, "why were you back there?" I ask her. She hesitates, letting out a small breath of air, "You gonna lie to me? If you are, make it good. This is the only time I'm letting you," I can't help but smirk at her. At how at ease I suddenly feel with her next to me.

I wonder if that's because it's nice to not be walking this hall alone for once, or if it's because I managed to save her from a horrible attack.

A part of me doubts she even wants to talk to me. Like she feels safer keeping her mouth shut than speaking out loud but then her voice - soft and slow, yet unwavering and somewhat serious - rings in my ears. For someone so small, I'm amazed it's as low as it sounds.

"Well...uh, I was trying to get away from a guy..." She bites her lip, hesitating again, "...friend." Guy _friend_?

"Ex-boyfriend?" I ask, but she shakes her head. I can't explain the slight relief in my lungs; maybe she just seems too good, too innocent, too young to really be in anything serious. I still want to know how old she is, but I don't think it's appropriate to ask.

"No, just saving myself from hours of unwanted awkward conversation." I have to laugh, a real laugh. So not a boyfriend, just a guy who'd like to get there.

"I take it you didn't opt for lying to me," I say, watching her lips turn up at the corners. "I'm Four, one of the leaders..." She probably already knows that, but I find it's an easier starting point, "what's your name?"

I catch a small sound from her; another hesitation. Is her name hard? Or does she not like it? Or does she prefer to keep that to herself since she just met me? "...my name's Tris." I wonder if it's an alias – it has to be if she hesitated. But somehow I understand her, like she's similar to me in a way. My nickname gives me an out, I'll give her this one.

_Tris._

Not the name I expected to hear, but I like it. Even if it's not her full name; she doesn't know my real name either anyway, "Well Tris," I say, testing her name in my mouth, "I'm supposed to be telling you the rules, but nobody really cares about them. Eric breaks them all the time so he's just being a hypocrite." She smirks a little, "you should get back to your friends."

Damn this hallway. For once it's not long enough.

But I can't keep her back here with me any longer - Eric would probably search us out and the last thing I want is to see him give her a punishment for not coming back out. Granted, she would be with me - a _leader_ - but I don't want to push the boundaries anymore tonight.

"Okay," Tris replies; I nod and begin to head back. I want to process this. But before I fully leave her standing alone here, I can't help but utter one last sentence.

"Oh, if Eric ever bothers you again you know where to find me," I hear another 'okay' and turn away. I really just want to talk to her more, which scares me.

Uriah always taunted me about never developing interest in girls, even Zeke joined in occasionally - always saying maybe I was gay - but something about Tris just clicked. She's not like other girls and I can't tell what's gripping at my mind.

Is it because she looks so fragile, yet determinedly strong? Or maybe the way she hesitated on her name, looking for a different identity here. It isn't something petty, like her eyes or her face in general - though both have my attention. I want to talk to her more - I _need_ to. I can't explain why.

I still don't know her age, that factor alone scares me a little bit. She just looks so young to me. I'm nineteen, sometimes I still feel much younger than I am yet every time I glance in a mirror I look different than the number. Some days I look older, like I could be twenty-two at most.

I stopped thinking age was just a number a long time ago; now I realize there's a certain importance to it. Whether we ever find out what that significance is, I'm not sure. But I want to get to know her, I'll just keep my distance if necessary.


	2. Legendary Four

CHAPTER 2 – LEGENDARY FOUR

By the time I get down to the pit the next day, my back is in more pain from the recent ink session, and Eric is already waiting for me, "you looked pretty intimidating with the stiff... didn't know the rules were so funny."

_Shit_.

Not what I wanted to walk into. _Of course_ he saw that.

_Of course_ he did. Subtle, I am not.

But what I don't understand, is why Eric would wait until it was just the two of us to chastise me. He likes making spectacles of people, without an audience, what's his point?

I don't think too much longer on that, however, because I'm too busy thinking about what that now means: I've definitely just made Tris his target. He's gonna watch her like a hawk and wait for the moment either she or I messes up. And if he gets what he wants from this conversation, then I'd say we already have.

"I explained the rules to her," it's amazing how smoothly I can lie under intense pressure. Because right now, I could throw up. Though Eric hates me, so I already know that even if I were telling the God's honest truth, he still wouldn't believe a word I just said. So it really doesn't matter what I say to him.

He'll take it, he just won't believe it.

Eric scoffs, "And got pretty friendly with her right after? Yeah, right. Because every time I beat the rules into a stiff's mind, we become great friends afterwards." I almost laugh. He's the coldest bastard – second to my father – that I've ever met. So even just hearing the words 'great friends' come out of his mouth is pretty hilarious.

"Yeah, well luckily for her I don't physically beat the rules into people," I say, stepping around him. I've got to get away from him, "nor do I make rules up whenever I please, or break them, or choose not to reinforce them myself." Talking to him is like getting thrown into an ice cold bath, and then being held under the surface to numbly struggle through more of the torture.

My hands are itching to hit something, so I head to the training room to bust my knuckles up more.

Eric doesn't usually scare me. I try not to be afraid of him but I know how smart he is. And as disgusted as I am to admit that, Eric is very smart. He's deadly smart. And whether I always was from the beginning, or I somehow put myself there, I am one of his targets. But I put up with it, because – especially now – I'd rather it be me he watches instead of Tris.

If I screw up, I can take the consequences. But Tris is innocent, and she doesn't need to carry the burden that he is.

I've already rescued her once from him, I don't want to make a habit out of it. There's something about her, I don't know what, but it's got my attention. And I will only allow myself once, to admit that I am attracted to her in some unexplainable way. The best I can do is warn her, because if I constantly get involved with her, like she's a damsel in distress, then Eric will know something is up – and it will be my undoing.

XxXxX

It's not even that late and I've already got a strong buzz kicking in. Maybe it's because of that whole conversation with Eric earlier, or maybe because I've been so uptight this week.

Either way, I'm pretty sure it's only eight and I'm gonna have a splitting headache tomorrow morning if I keep drinking. I've been listening, or trying to listen to Zeke and Uriah, but they've been bickering about who's going first on the zip line.

I don't plan on joining them, so I tune out when they mention it.

Uriah heads in the other direction, practically sprinting. I turn back to Zeke, "so, aside from being antisocial tonight, does the Legendary Four have something to do? A girl to talk to, maybe?"

"Not likely, Zeke," I say, finishing the rest of my drink, "I'm probably not going to be hanging around here tonight. So when you get back, do me a favor...don't come and search me out to tell me how you almost pitched somebody off the roof because they weren't settled in properly." Zeke bursts out laughing.

"Don't be surprised if I ever try to pitch you off a building," he says, punching my arm. At that, I laugh because I suddenly forget what fear is. I forget what my fears are, at least. Uriah is calling Zeke, which tells me everyone is ready to go.

Then I see her.

Tris. Alcohol couldn't make me forget her. I wonder how long she's been watching me, but she smiles. I return her wave with a nod, and smile back. I'm more confident, which probably makes me seem a little arrogant. She doesn't look away.

She looks _good_. Not just pretty, but a little stunning. Definitely different, older. And she's wearing black— I feel warm all over, and I can't tell if it's from the way she looks, the alcohol, or both. I like black on her.

Her hair is down, with gold framing her face, making it look a little longer. The sweater she's wearing makes her look softer, clutching at her thin waist. _But the jeans_... they're tight around her thin legs. The straps wrapping around her thighs, and her calves, they make her legs look longer, she actually looks a little taller from here.

I can see the curves of her body; she looks soft. My eyes graze up, and the thoughts swarm me—_stop it_. A have to stop myself from thinking about her in anyway uncontrolled. She's younger than me, still in school; even if I wanted to...if she wanted to... I couldn't allow it.

I don't realize that Zeke is trying to get my attention at first, until he asks, "you sure you don't want to join us?" He noticed. He knows who I was staring at. I shake my head.

"No, I'm perfectly fine on solid ground," I answer.

"Suit yourself."

XxXxX

As I wait for Zeke and the others to return, I spend most of the night, hazily, watching fights. I don't usually find them entertaining but they make the time pass.

I don't even know what time it is when I notice the first body to hit the net. It's Zeke. He jumps down, grinning from ear to ear; when he spots me I leave the fights behind and join him for the other jumpers.

The last person to come down is Tris. She would look just as thrilled and flushed as she did the first time she jumped, except she looks... I can't even explain how she looks now. Maybe the happiest I've ever seen her. I smile.

I reach up and pull her out of the net. Her fingers grip into my shoulders, sending sparks through me. Looking at her is like waking up, and it leaves me breathless, "I take it they gave you the full run."

Tris laughs, and all the color in her face returns. I can't tell if she's blushing, or if it's from laughing but she looks beautiful. Our moment ends all too soon, because I'm being called over by Zeke. I make she can stand on her own, before I let go of her waist and leave her with her friends.

"How was it?" I ask, stopping just a few feet in front of him. Shauna comes up beside me, her hair won't lay flat because of the wind-tossed knots, and she's grinning from ear to ear.

"Scary as hell," Shauna replies, "like always."

"Not that you would know, you pansycake." Zeke smirks. I know I've sobered up quite a bit, but I'm still sluggish because I don't register that he's hit my shoulder as hard as he did until it begins to throb.

"How did the stiff do?" Calling her stiff is like an insult, since she looks anything but, now. I steal another glimpse at her direction, and see that Uriah has thrown her over his shoulder and the cup she was holding is now on the ground, forgotten.

Zeke doesn't respond. I turn my head back to him to see that he and Shauna are sharing a look. A little too knowing, by the looks of it, "_What?_" I ask.

"You just asked us, twice now, how the zip lining went..." Shauna replies. I shrug, trying to act like it was casual. When in fact, it was anything but casual, "you never ask how zip lining goes."

"Does the Legendary Four have a thing for the stiff?" Zeke teases, elbowing me in the ribs. I could lie and blame it on the alcohol, but I'm sober enough to stand still on two feet so I know it wouldn't get past them. To tell them the truth, however, would mean they'd never get off my back until I asked her out or until I offended her and she never spoke to me again.

"No, I just want to know," I'm a liar.

"Sure," Zeke says, "she didn't even scream out of fear. Kind of a disappointing reaction."

"Yeah, maybe she oughta see you up there," Shauna kids, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

"Ha ha," I mutter, shaking my head at them. "Like you would ever get me to go up there."

XxXxX

I never used to sleep on my stomach until my father thought I was old enough to take serious punishment. I try not to think of him, or what he did to me but it's not always that easy to block the memories out.

Over the years of endless torture, sleeping on my stomach became comfortable when I couldn't sleep on my back. Sleeping without a shirt on became quite normal too, when the wiry, grey fabric would rub into my wounds too much.

My most helpless of days.

I've become so different... stronger, yet the memories will never cease to make me cringe, or even cry. I get angry at how little he made me feel. How I used to cower and face the wall, gripping the dresser with white knuckles as I waited for him to return with whatever he chose to hit me with that night. I never even bothered with a brave face, I let the tears out. I had always hoped my father would see me crying, and stop. But he never did.

How I would lose count of how many times he hit me, belt or not, and have to bite my knuckles to hold back screams. Or when the pain got to be too much, I would scream into my arms. And when he finally left my room, I would sink to the ground and lay on my side and stare at the grey carpet.

My father never walked back into my room after he was done. So I could lay on that floor for hours, broken. I would try to keep my sobbing quiet, with hiccups withheld. I didn't need him to come back in and start again because I was disturbing his sleep.

It was never for my own good; I've seen what power does to people. I know it was because he had the most of it. No matter if I reached eye level with him at sixteen, he always looked down on me before and after that. And I was never allowed to talk back, or lie, or fight back.

Now, I'm a leader. That may not mean much to him, but I don't take power in the same way he does.

I don't claim it, I run from it.

Because I'm scared it'll make me just like him. That with enough power, I'll become the monster I've always feared. And I don't want that, I never want that. I am Tobias Eaton, _Legendary Four_. Around here where they only know my alias, I am not the son of Marcus and Evelyn Eaton; I am not born into the broken family, I do not have one.

That's the only downside to living alone; my thoughts have time to resurface.

XxXxX

Tori finishes up, putting the needle down on the tray beside me. She backs up from me to observe it. I can see her nod of approval from the corner of my eye. I can only see part of it over my shoulder, but I like it.

Like I said, I don't need to see it. I just need to know it's there.

"It's a shame that'll be covered up every single day," Tori says, shaking her head, "I think it's one of my best, yet."

"Well I don't plan on walking around without a shirt on," I say, straightening up, "but maybe someone will get very lucky to see the work you did."

"Are we talking about anyone specific? Or is this just some 'in the future', 'near future' maybe, thing?" I was always fascinated by how blunt, and specific she is.

"Maybe 'in the future', type," I answer. I can tell she wants to press for questions, but she knows that if she does the only thing she's getting from me is vague answers.

When I leave, I relish the final stinging, prickling all over my back. My tattoo has meaning, significant to me but also a feeling of finally getting some rebellion against my father. Because it was my decision.

But instead of thinking too much about that, I head down to meet Zeke for some practice. He's already at a punching bag, consistent with his punches, never missing. There's a thick sheen of sweat covering his forehead, arms, and back, making me wonder how long he's been here already.

"I take it you didn't bother to wait for me," I say, approaching him. He stops and turns to face me, grinning.

"You were taking forever," he says, "I just assumed you were gonna oversleep."

"I've been up since five," I say, glancing at the clock across the room. It's eight.

"So have I," Zeke says, "but I've been down here since then."

"I was with Tori, she was finishing my tattoo," I reply, grabbing the roll of tape off the table. I wrap it around my black and blue knuckles, which actually look more purple now, and stop in front of a bag. I position myself, and take the first swing.

Pain. That's what I feel throughout my whole hand; I keep going.

"Ah, so you finally got one?" Zeke asks. I nod, breathing between each punch. "What'd you get?"

"That's for me to know," I say. Zeke rolls his eyes.

"Okay, whatever... where, then?"

"On my back."

"But you can't see it," he says.

"Don't need to." I keep punching. I can feel sweat dripping down my face and neck and back, so I pull back to stop for a moment.

"Since you won't tell me, can I at least see it?" I'm reluctant, but Zeke has always been my friend. He's never forced me, or pestered me, for answers when I didn't want to give them. He never even questioned what I came from. After a minute, I sigh and grip the top of my shirt and pull it up over my head.

"Holy shit," Zeke says, then laughs, "that is the biggest tattoo I have ever seen! That's sick!"

"So, has my tattoo passed?"

"I believe so," he replies, as I put my shirt back on. We start punching again, but Zeke stops halfway through and watches me.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," he says, like he knows a secret. This can't be good. I know I was drunk last night, but I doubt I said anything personal. Not even alcohol would make me bring up the darkest parts of me.

"What?" I ask again.

"Well, since you want to know," Zeke always has this way about making you nervous before he asks you what he wants to ask; I've been put under this scrutiny more times than I can remember. So I stop punching again and turn to face him, "...you asked about the stiff last night—,"

"—Not this again!" I should have known he wasn't gonna drop the subject completely.

"Well," Zeke looks amused; of course he does, this is my discomfort, "do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have a thing for her?" If it's this obvious to him, I don't even want to think how Eric sees it. I sigh.

"Does it matter?" I ask.

"Dude, come on! Of course it matters! You've barely even glanced at a girl since I've met you three years ago. I mean, you've gone on dates—,"

"—that you set up," I remind him. He waves me off and continues.

"—but you've never actually pined after one." He's right. I don't have anything to say to him though. "If you actually like this girl—God, help her—," he's joking, but still I grin, "—then shouldn't you do something about that?"

"I don't know," I say, "I barely even know her."

"There's plenty of time for that," Zeke reassures.

"I am not asking her out," I shake my head, "not yet, anyways. But I will, at least, talk to her more, okay?" Zeke claps me on the back with a grin, and I wince at the stinging from the tattoo.

"That's the Legendary Four I know!"

XxXxX

My eyes refuse to focus on one thing, and I know exactly why. Because I am searching for her. It's Saturday night, almost midnight in fact. If I haven't found her at any other point tonight, I doubt I will find her now. I wonder if maybe she went zip lining again, but Zeke is here so that's unlikely.

I'm about to head back to my apartment, when I see a blond head walking through the crowd. It's her—she's here.

It's been a few days since I've last seen her, or at least her friends around, and seeing her now makes me kinda happy. I keep thinking about what Zeke said to me, and though he has a point, everything feels one-sided to me. I don't know if she even likes me, at least a little as much as I like her.

I don't even notice, in that moment, that she's looked up. At me. Something brave inside of me makes me motion for her to come up, and when she points back at herself I have to smile, answering with a nod.

She's looking around, probably for the stairs, so I head toward them. When I meet her on the stairs, all bravery is replaced by nerves. I still try to remain confident, "Hey."

Tris smiles, a little breathless and says, "Hi."

The first thing that comes to my mind is how she looks; I still remember how she looked the night of the zip line, "I didn't get a chance to ask you how the zip lining went."

Her eyes light up, "It was incredible. I'm looking forward to doing it again." I wrack my brain, trying to remember if Zeke had mentioned them going again, but he didn't.

"Are you going tonight?"

"Uh no," she says, shaking her head, "but Uriah said they plan to go again before winter." I nod. I still wonder if Zeke had it planned, or if it was only Uriah. "So why are we up here?" Does she not want to be? I didn't really think about that, since her friends are down there and she's up here with me, all alone.

"Do you not want to be?" I ask. She shakes her head, and relief washes over me. At least she wants to be; she didn't lie to me when I offered, so I don't suspect she's lying now.

"No, I mean I like it up here," Tris says. I watch her fingers slide along the railings, they're thin and long, and the tendons stick out with every movement. The spaces look wide enough to fit mine, but I keep my hands in front of me, "I'm just surprised you want me up here with you."

I laugh, looking over the pit. "I brought you up here for two reasons," I say, stopping, "one, because the fights can get rough down there and you won't be able to see when everyone tries to get a better look. And two, because I _want_ you up here."

"Okay," she replies. I can't help the smirk that curls at the corner of my mouth. Eric starts announcing the rules of the fight – they're not the same from when he and I first came to the pit. The rules he made up are fight until you can't, a.k.a. until you're bloody and bruised and can't stand back up, and no one concedes, "they can't concede?"

I shake my head, "They used to be able to," _when he and I were first chosen_. I notice from the corner of my eye that she's looking at me, but I don't look at her. I'm afraid she'll see the anger in my eyes, the anger that reappears every time I think about that fight, "but since Eric has become the tyrant of this place nobody's allowed to concede."

"Can't you do something about it?" She asks. I shrug, _believe me I've tried_ I want to say. But I don't, I just take this moment to finally look at her. I feel the anger dissipate when I meet her eyes.

"I could, but Eric has more influence around here." Untrue. He has more negative influence around here; I could just as easily, but I refrain from trying to interfere with him. I just shake my head, "...and if people want to associate themselves with him, then they'll follow whatever rules he makes. I'd rather not further involve myself." I turn my head back down, instantly regretting it the moment I see Eric watching us. He doesn't look happy, but then again when does he ever?

_Vulture_.

I know she's spotted Eric, but she turns back to me and says, "That's not fair, if there are three people in control." She's right, but nothing's fair here.

"There used to be five of us," I reply. I expect to see her expression turn to one of horror, but she looks oddly stoic. I see curiosity, but that's about it.

"What happened to the other two?" I look away.

Eric looks pissed; it's because the boy he was rooting for has lost. It's also because I've beaten him in something else, yet again. Working on being kind is difficult when you're not exactly that, and grew up around a negative environment. I find amusement in his losings. I can't help but feel smug as I say, "Eric owes me ten bucks. Usually he's good at picking the skilled ones."

I steal another glance in her direction; she looks alert, watching the fight. I see something else in her features, and it registers with me that she's horrified how deadly still the boy that lost is. He's being dragged away like a ragdoll, "Eric got the other two to go against each other, claiming one was more useful in his position than the other. That caused an annoying argument between the two for weeks and eventually Tori and I got so irritated we told them just to go. Eric wouldn't even try that with Tori or me, thankfully, but that still doesn't stop him from trying to mess with me." _Or —now— you_. I think to myself. Her hair is down again, which I'm finding that I like very much.

Up here, in the glow of the white/blue lights her hair looks silver. The jacket she's wearing makes her shoulders look pointed and thin. I think black is her color. Her eyes look brighter too, maybe from just being here—the excitement— or the black lining her eyes. Either way, I can't really look away from her.

Eric keeps glaring, and I know I've just made my affections for her blaringly obviously. I know I've just made her an even bigger target but I'm selfish. So selfish, in fact, that I just want to spend time with her. Regardless of Eric's constant watch.

"Why can't you or Tori do something about him?" I wish it were that simple. Except it's not. Despite Eric being highly unlikable, the leaders above us play quite a lot of favoritism around here. And because Eric brings so much attention to the pit, the favoritism is namely towards him.

All I say is, "it's a complicated issue." She doesn't press for more, and turns back to watch as they carry the boy out. I watch her. She doesn't look as young as she did when I first met her, "I have a question that's been bugging me for a few days now. Hopefully I don't offend you." Since I've offended every other girl I've ever talked to.

Something tells me she's different from all of them. She's waiting for me to say it, so I suck in a breath and ask, "how old are you?" Tris laughs, holding onto the railing.

"Sorry," she apologizes, exhaling, "I'm seventeen. I know... I look younger." The second flood of relief since I've talked to her tonight.

"You look seventeen," I say, after analyzing her features a little better.

"Thanks to Christina," she says. I don't know what she means by that, but thank you Christina. She's silent, watching as they set up the next activity. I'm still watching her; I move a little closer to her.

"What is he doing now?"

"Watch," I say. It's not something we do around here that often; despite it rendering useless, it's actually a cool thing to learn. I see Eric glancing up at us again, but this time he motions at us, but I know he's referring to me. He wants me to throw.

But I notice who's standing at the target; it's Christina. I look over at Tris, who looks more horrified now than when they dragged that boy away. I try to walk past her, because I don't want her to do anything stupid but she stops me, blocking my path.

"...wait, what is he doing?" I grab her shoulders and push her aside lightly. This situation is bordering on nightmare.

"He's picked Christina as the target. I have to." I don't have to, actually. I could just walk away, but Eric could pick Tirs next, and I don't want to find out that she's been impaled by a knife. If I get this done, at least Christina won't get nearly as hurt as she would if Eric was throwing.

I've seen what Eric can do. What he will do.

"Have to..._n-no!_" Before I can even grab her, she's sprinting towards the steps. She's faster than I thought she was, that's for sure.

"Tris!" I have to shout louder because everyone is either drunk, or just being boisterous, "Tris! Stop! _TRIS!_" She's about to step out into the middle, towards Christina, but my fingers manage to grip the bottom of the shirt beneath her jacket. She stops, but unfortunately Eric has caught sight of us. I instantly let go of her shirt, and let my hand fall to my side, "_Shit!_" This could not be any worse.

"What do you think you're doing stiff?" Eric demands, towering above her. His eyes flicker to me; there's a menacing glint to his expression. My jaw locks, tense, as I wait for the knowing result.

"I'm going to take her place," she says it with such confidence, but her hands are violently shaking at her sides. I'm angry – at her, at Eric... at _myself_. I am selfish, and I am an idiot.

But this, by far, has to be the most idiotic thing _she_ has ever done.

I protest, "Tris, you don't know what you'r—,"

"—I'll be the target."

"Same rules apply then," Eric smirks, "You flinch, and it's your third strike." She was only at one, as far as I knew. Is he considering this her second strike? Eric turns to me, smirking, "Do the honors, Four?" Malicious bastard. I'm glaring at Tris as she stands in front of the target.

I can't pull my eyes away from her. Pleading with her isn't working, and it wouldn't. Eric would call me out on it if I told her to just walk away now. Eric is just as great with a knife as I am. He just makes me throw because he knows I don't have a sadistic streak in me.

I take the knives from Eric's hand and turn the first one over in my hand. The feel of the metal is too heavy right now. I know I won't miss my intended targets, but I only have four chances. I need to find a way to hurt her without_ really_ hurting her.

Tris releases a breath and a shudder goes through her body. I position myself, breathing in. She's about to close her eyes, so I exhale and throw. Her eyes stay open, watching me. It landed just by her arm, sticking out of the wood.

"You can do better," Eric says, loud enough for me to hear. I turn back to her and notice her eyes are closed. I wonder if she's as frustrated as I am, or if it's just me. I don't want to hurt her, but I know I'll have to with Eric watching. He knows I can do better. I need to go for the least harmful way possible...

"Eyes open." I'm harsher than I mean to be, but still her eyes flutter open on me as I release the second knife. It's much closer to her than I intended; The knife is only a few inches from her neck. A distracted throw. I need to focus or I'll seriously hurt her.

"You can get closer," Eric mutters, irritably.

"You want me to take a little off the top?" I ask. I want to throw Eric off our trail but I already know it's too late for that.

"Yeah, maybe just a little." He's smug. I go again, exhaling and throwing. This time, I catch just above her head. The part in her hair looks like it could be from the knife, but I'm relieved it's not. That was too close, but I'm down to my last knife so I need to get closer.

I see the tip of her ear through her hair; the fast-healing cartilage. I could aim there, it would be like getting a piercing but it wouldn't hurt as bad as catching her somewhere else. I release the last knife, watching as her eyes flinch but not her body. She did it. All the tension leaves my body; I felt like a wire that was wound too tight, ready to snap.

"Points for bravery stiff," Eric says, just as her fingers graze the cut. There are tears in her eyes, I can see them glistening from where I'm standing, "but I'm not revoking your strikes." Of course not. That's the final activity for tonight, everyone scatters around the pit again but I turn away.

I'm tempted to go back to my apartment and hit something; or scream. Yet my body feels deadly calm—I'm tired. I don't turn back around, I head for the back. I'm not angry at her, not really. I'm more angry that she did that, and that I made her such a target. Why am I selfish? Why did I have to do that, especially to her?

I hear footsteps—hers—and I stop just before I turn the corner. I hear her come to a stop behind me, "I'm sorry," she says quietly. I tense up again—_why isn't she angry with me? _I hurt her.

"That was idiotic, Tris."

"I already got the speech from Christina," she retorts. She doesn't sound angry, but she does sound hurt.

"Well maybe you need to hear it from me too," I snap. I have to remind myself that I'm not angry with her. _I'm angry with myself. I'm angry with myself_. It's a mantra I've known my whole life. I turn to face her, and with a sigh I ask, "are you alright?"

"It's just a cut," she replies, shaking her head. It may be just a cut, but I caused it when it could have been avoided. I threw knives at her for God's sake!

"At least let me clean it," It's not a question. She hesitates, but nods. We head up a few flights of stairs, with her following shortly after me. My apartment is at the furthest end of the hallway, and when we enter the room is warmer than usual. Maybe I'm just nervous because she's one of the only people I've ever allowed in.

"Do you live here?" she asks, glancing around the small space. Her eyes linger at the window, and they soften. She's thinking of something, but I don't feel the need to ask about it right now.

"Yes," I answer. She moves closer to my bed, to look out the window. I take this as my chance to get into the bathroom and grab what I need to clean her cut. I grab a rag and turn the faucet on to wet it. I fill the bowl I grabbed off the counter with warm water, and throw the rag in to soak.

I steps closer to her, placing the bowl by on the side table. I grab onto her shoulders and have her sit down on the mattress. She sits on the edge, like she's ready to get up at any second. It reminds me of when my mother did the same thing around my father.

She's afraid of me.

I sit beside her, and brush her hair away from her neck; her skin is soft, and I have to remember to breathe.

I grab the bowl and set it between us on the bed. I pick the rag up and wring the water out. I hold her head still, but the selfish part of me tells me it's just so I can touch her again, without scaring her. I press the rag to her ear, lightly wiping at the blood that's begun to dry on her skin. She winces beneath my fingers.

We're silent, and I don't try to speak because I don't know what to say. So I start on the blood that's dripped down to her collarbone. I wonder what she's thinking. She turns her head slightly, to look at me for a moment, before whispering, "I'm sorry." Her voice echoes.

I sigh and stand up, taking the bowl with me back to the other room. I dump the water out into the sink, and throw the rag onto the counter with a wet slap. I'm not angry with her, but I'm not sure how to say that without my voice wavering or giving away the anger at myself.

I need to talk to her, but I hear the sound of my front door closing and I know she's gone. Tonight did not go the way I wanted it to.


	3. Her

CHAPTER 3 – HER

"You've been sulking for nearly two weeks straight," Zeke says to me, "I'm surprised you haven't lashed out at Eric. He seems to be going out of his way, making up more excuses than usual just to get under your skin."

"When isn't he?" I asked through gritted teeth; my knuckles are beyond bruised—I wouldn't be surprised if they were sprained. They're numb, which is the only thing keeping me going at the moment.

It took me about two days to realize I was angry with myself after Tris left my apartment–I was angry because I was frustrated, I hurt her, and snapped at her, and then practically ignored her. I'm more frustrated now because she hasn't been around these last two weeks.

Zeke doesn't talk again until I stop to take a break, "did you offend her?"

"What?"

He rolls his eyes like his question was obvious, "The stiff. Did you offend her?"

"I didn't offend her!" I mutter, frowning.

"So throwing knives at her head scared her off?"

"I didn't scare her off," though he's probably right. I just don't want to admit that possibility to myself.

"Well that grey cloud over your head tells me something happened."

"What do you want me to say?" I ask. "Eric would have thrown them at her himself if I backed down—and God knows he wouldn't have just nicked her ear." Zeke nods, but there's no sympathy in his expression, thankfully.

"So...did you guys have an argument?"

"Not exactly," I sigh, "it's my fault... I snapped at Tris, and I just need to talk to her but I haven't seen her." The thing I appreciate about Zeke: he doesn't believe in sympathy, and he doesn't attempt to act like he does.

"She spends time with my brother," he says, "and Marlene and Lynn. Just give it some more time, and eventually she'll be back." I nod, but I'm not so sure. She's stayed away for two weeks, something tells me she could go a lot longer. It's Zeke's night to watch the security cameras–_technically_ it's a leader's job, but since Tori prefers working with tattoos and Eric likes hanging around the main area, so it's his job. Occasionally, if there's nothing for me to do I join him, which I have been for the last couple of nights. Tonight might just be another trip. I sigh and turn back to the bags, shaking my hands out before going again.

XxXxX

I never actually pay attention when Zeke's running the cameras, but he's be especially obnoxious with them tonight—switching between screens every couple of seconds. "Is there something you're looking for?" I ask him irritably, snatching the control pad from him.

"Hey—!" He tries to grab it back but I hold it far enough away from him; he looks tempted to jump me for it, but other than that he sits still with an outstretched hand. "Give me that back."

"Are you even watching them? Or are you just having fun screwing around with them?"

"Damn, you're just _fun_ to work with you're pissed off," Zeke mutters, trying again. I hold it even further back, turning the chair with me. "Can't you just go find her and talk to her? You went to the same school...for three years, might I add."

"I'm not gonna search her out just to talk," I sigh, "that's a little creepy."

Zeke shakes his head, sighing loudly, "can I have that back now? I promise, I'll actually _watch_ the damn screens this time." I don't believe him, but my arm is getting tired of playing keep-away so I hand it back to him and turn back to the screens in front of me. They begin to change quickly, and this time I know he's doing it on purpose.

A camera in the farthest part of the compound speeds by the screen a few times—it's hardly ever useful since nobody enters in that way unless they're heading to the apartments from the outside. But I notice, in the seconds that I'm given, that the door is open and there are people entering. "Hold on, back it up," I say to Zeke. Reluctantly, Zeke does.

"Are you sure it's not someone entering the apartments?" He asks, sounding bored. I wave him off and lean in closer to see better; that hallways barely ever lit properly, it makes it harder to see properly. But I do see, as Zeke pulls up a different camera in the hall. I see Christina first, and then _her_. Tris. I think my heart actually skips a beat—which scares me that she has that effect on me. "How the hell—? Do you have some sixth sense for her or something?" Zeke looks as stunned as I am, but I laugh.

"No, I actually watch the camera footage," I retort. Zeke rolls his eyes and switches the cameras on me again before I can get a better look. I want to be angry, but I know he has good intentions. I don't need to strain my eyes watching her through the screens. I can still steal glimpses as he changes cameras.

He switches out into the main rooms, and I watch just as Uriah pulls her into a hug. A part of me is jealous of him—that he can do these things with her, and be around her, without making her a target. Another part of me is glad that Uriah has taken a liking to her like a sister. He's always been a good kid, for as long as I've known him and his family—aside from Christina, he's one of the greatest friends she could have, I think.

I don't particularly know what time is it, but Zeke has practically fallen asleep in front of the cameras. At least he stopped screwing around with them; my eyes can focus. Of course, they focus on her. All night, I've noticed she's either scanned the areas around her or she's stuck close to Uriah or Christina. I frown.

She says something to Uriah and turns to head out; as much as I want to follow her, I wait until I know which hallway she's headed out. She takes the stairs, and my eyes flicker to Eric—thankfully, he's too preoccupied to notice her. I breathe a sigh of relief and stand up, stretching briefly. I always hated the chairs in here.

I shake Zeke awake—earning a few good names—before I head for the door, "don't fall asleep on the keyboard," I smirk, "wouldn't want the keys imprinted on your forehead like last time." He says something I don't hear because I'm already heading down the hall.

I get outside, stopping suddenly. I must be a walking contradiction—I don't want to stalk her, but yet that's exactly what it looks like I'm doing. I bite the inside of my cheek for a moment, debating my options. Either I miss my chance to talk to her, or I follow her wherever she's going and, in the process, possibly earn the title of a stalker.

_I don't care_. At least that's what my head says. So I start walking again; I pull my hood up over my head and cut through some of the alleys. Her shadows pass by the openings before she does, but I never lose sight of her for long. I don't know where she's going until I see the fairgrounds up ahead.

I have to suppress the urge to laugh; we think alike. I always snuck out here, after my mother died, and my father got to be too much. It was always calm—I would climb up and stay on the lower limbs of the trees on the opposite end of the grounds. Except that's not where she goes; she heads straight for the Ferris Wheel, picking things up off the ground on the way. I can't see them, but I assume they're rocks.

I stay by the opening, just watching her. She climbs up the first few rungs, and glances around again. It reminds me of what Zeke asked me back in the control room. Her curiosity and cautiousness is like a sixth sense.

She gets up onto the first landing, sitting down by one of the lower carts. Of course she would seek solace on something so dangerous.

The lights that illuminate the open grounds outline her sitting shape in a silver line. I watch as she pulls her arm back and throws the small object. It doesn't go very far, but it hits the dirt with a small thud. After a moment, she throws another one and the wind blows around her, throwing her hair into her face.

I walk forward, careful to keep the lights off my face as I look up. She hasn't seen me yet, which surprises me a little bit. As I get closer, I see the slight frown on her face as she turns another rock over in her hands. I don't know exactly what to say, so I say, "I thought it was you up there." She jumps a little, glancing down over the edge. I crane my neck back to get a better look at her—she doesn't seem all that surprised to see me.

"How did you find me?" She asks, almost too quietly for me to hear.

"You're not the only person who hides around the fairgrounds when they're sulking," I reply. She stands up suddenly, and begins to walk around the cart. I feel a lump in my throat as she stumbles slightly—I get the image of her, falling, stuck in my head and I almost tell her to stop. I bury my hands in my pockets to hide their shaking.

She lifts her chin defensively, and says, "I'm not sulking." I laugh, nodding. _Of _course_ you're not_. She sits at this end, this time, glancing back down at me.

"You're the only person I know who's crazy enough to climb a death trap, you know." Unfortunately, despite the breathtaking picture of her up on the ledge, I remember why I'm here. "Can I talk to you for a second?" She looks weary, biting her lip—a bad habit of hers, I've noticed.

"You have to come up here," she says. A small part of me nearly dies inside—I can't climb up there. Even that's too high up for me.

"Fuck," I sigh, shaking my head. As I try to remain calm, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, praying that if I press hard enough I can believe that what she's just asked of me was not real. "You don't make anything easy, I'm finding," I say, louder. I take another glance up, meeting her eyes this time.

An odd expression crosses her features then, and she leans forward a little more, "you're afraid of heights." It's not a question, or a taunt. Some of my body relaxes—because she doesn't look at me any different. But the other half has just lost the battle in my mind, the battle to keep my strong front up.

The fact that she didn't look at me like I was weak—like my fear didn't make me a coward in her eyes—gives me the strength to admit even to myself, "Everyone's afraid of something, Tris."

"Come up here," she says, softer this time. I still protest, but I also crave the strength she gives me that makes me move toward the ladder. She's my ultimate weakness, that ultimately gives me strength. All of which, still scares the hell out of me because I don't know anything about relationships or even really talking to a girl. But I know enough to say that climbing a rundown Ferris Wheel at midnight isn't how most begin—maybe ours could, if everything could work out the way I wanted it to.

The higher I climb, the closer I feel to letting go and falling. The ladder creaks with each rise, and my panic taunts me that it'll collapse beneath me despite its build. I can't help the filter that's suddenly not between my mind and mouth—I must sound like the most vulgar person she's ever heard.

Just as I get to the top, she reaches her hand out. My mind battles between her hand and the last rung—ultimately, I choose the last rung because I don't know how focused I'll remain if I grab her hand. My fingers end up grazing hers, and a shock shoots down my palm and up my arm. The hand that's holding the rung grips tighter, holding me in place for a moment.

When I'm sure I'm alright, I grab her hand and lift myself up. I try to slow my breathing down, and keep my eyes solely on her face for a moment. I don't try to look around, but I can't stop myself from watching the skyline. When I've had enough, I turn back to Tris, "That wasn't so bad." She says, smiling. She looks genuinely happy, but I still grimace. "So...you wanted to talk to me?"

Right. The original reason for following her here. I nod, accidentally looking down in the process. My eyes seek for her face, and when they find her I relax, "I'm pretty sure you know why...the other night..." I answer. "Why did you leave?"

She looks confused, "you were angry." I knew she'd think that. And I know, at the time I was but not with her.

"I wasn't angry with you," I say slowly, "not really. Not while you were in my apartment. I was more upset that I had to hurt you just to end the whole thing." There's a scab on her ear now.

"But you wouldn't talk to me," she says sadly. She looks down at her hands, but I focus on her.

"I didn't know what to say," I respond, grabbing onto one of the poles to keep myself still. "Honestly, I stabbed you in the ear. And we were both pretty pissed at the situation... what exactly could I have said to have made anything better?"

Tris shrugs, "you could have said you weren't angry with me."

"If I had been angry with you—," I wish she would look at me, "—I would have left you standing at that target. I wouldn't have brought you back to my apartment to clean your cut—,"

"Well I'm not a mind reader, Four!" She cries. I sigh, of course I know she's right.

"You're right. You're not." I answer. She looks smaller—defeated, like my answer wasn't enough. She drops her head into her hands and sighs.

"I honestly wish you would just yell at me already."

She's not an easy person to talk to; if anything, she's an enigma, and I'm determined to figure her out, "why would you say that? I don't want to yell at you."

"Well I want you too!" Tris snaps, "anything but telling me I'm right...I know me taking Christina's place was dangerous and stupid, and you could have hurt me, but dammit Four you're driving me crazy! You're confusing me by not being angry with me... I'm angry with myself, I'm angry with you for having no reasonable reaction to any of this—!"

"I think right now it's you that's driving yourself crazy, Tris," I say, staring into her eyes like it'll get my point across any clearer. She's smart, but she's worked herself up over this and I feel guilty. But I continue, "That was a hint, by the way." She sighs, scowling. "Feel better? Now that you've practically thrown every thought of yours at me..."

"No," she says, quietly, "not really." There's that defeated look again. The wind has blown her hair all around her face; her eyes are watery from the air, and her cheeks and nose are bright red from the cold. She looks so innocent.

"I think you're driving yourself crazy," I say again, "for the last two weeks you've avoided the pit, you won't even look at me... did you think I would stay mad at you this long?"

"You wouldn't talk to me when it happened," she sounds so helpless. But we're both to blame here.

"I didn't know what to say," I grab her shoulders and lift her chin up so she's looking at me, "I didn't know if I should apologize for being angry with you, for catching your ear... I knew I should have apologized for something but that situation is not something that happens that often. There were so many things wrong—unnecessary and unordinary about it. When you kept apologizing, I was no longer mad at you, Tris." I'm practically pleading with her; her shoulders relax some under my grip and she sighs.

"You could have just said that," she says. I chuckle, shaking my head at her.

"I could have, yeah. Okay? But I didn't even feel like I was there. And when I brought you back to my apartment, all I could think about was 'is there some way to take this back' like that would somehow make your ear stop bleeding. Like it would somehow make me less angry with myself for snapping at you..."

"You had to know I wasn't just going to watch Christina stand there..."

"Yeah, well I would preferred it to be anyone but you," I say. "Do you feel better now?"

"Sort of," I'm tempted to brush my thumb across her lip, it has to be raw from all the biting. But they still look soft.

"Can we get down now?" I ask. She laughs this time, and nods. I head down first, and not too long after does she follow.

XxXxX

I'm awoken my the furious pounding of a fist on my door the next morning. It's soon followed by another, too out of sync. And then howling. From just waking up, I'm almost dead weight as I lift myself up off my stomach and stand up.

The clock on my wall says it's just after seven, and if the howling hadn't started up I would have assumed it was Eric. Though he rarely ever goes out of his way to search me out unless it's beneficial for him. I open the door, glaring through blurry eyes at Zeke and Shauna, "Really?" I ask.

"You look good," Zeke retorts sarcastically, smirking.

"I just woke up," I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. After walking Tris back to the school last night, I took my time walking back—it had to have been at least two a.m. when I got back. Five hours of sleep at least.

"We could tell," Shauna grins.

"Why was it necessary to nearly beat my door down?" I ask, leaning against the counter to hold myself up. Shauna rests her hand on my head, tilting it back so I'm glancing at her awkwardly.

"We were coming to ask if you wanted to go for a run," she says, "they've got the pier opened again. Maybe we could head down." The pier was another favorite place of mine—before they closed it for dock repairs, I always walked, or jogged down, whether I just wanted to or couldn't sleep. Plus, a run didn't sound like a bad idea; might wake me up. I nod and they leave my apartment, saying they'll meet me down by the net.

We jog down to the pier, stopping just under the arch to catch our breaths. "Remember when we first came here?" Shauna asks, kicking a stone into the water. The water has risen since then. I remember that day—Zeke and I were joking around, we grabbed Shauna's arms and pretended to throw her into the water.

"You were screaming like a little girl," Zeke laughs. Shauna punches him in the arm and he continues, "Oh come on, this place wouldn't have so much meaning to you if we didn't try. Plus, you insisted on being like the guys." Shauna rolls her eyes at him.

"What did you guys call it again?" She asks.

"Your initiation," I answer, smirking. Zeke wraps his arms around her chest, locking her arms at her sides.

"And yet you never did finish," he says, holding her over the water. She doesn't scream, but she yells at him, despite laughing. I'm amazed Zeke hasn't fallen in with her, she's trying to break free; if she does, she'll be in the water. "Aren't you gonna help me, Four?"

We're not sixteen anymore, but the nostalgic part of me holds on to the day we really became friends. I grab Shauna's ankles, earning a few names, and Zeke and I swing her back and forth. Zeke, briefly, pretends to let go of her a few times, to scare her, and when we set her back on her feet she brushes her hair out of her eyes and cracks her knuckles, throwing a punch at Zeke's stomach. She goes for me, but I block her and she nearly falls backwards into the water.

"Race you guys back!" Shauna yells, sprinting past me before I can stop her. Zeke takes off next, and I follow not too far behind.

XxXxX

"Apparently your girl made a deal with my idiot brother?" Zeke tells me, smirking, "she's not stupid...so what is she thinking?"

"She's not mine," I say, a little bitterly. "And I have no idea what you're talking about."

"So she didn't mention anything?"

"Does it look like I've seen her today?" I ask.

"No, but it definitely looked like you'd seen her last night," he shrugs, but he's right. I wasn't expecting the morning wake-up call—I would have preferred the last two hours I could get this morning, "you did, didn't you?"

I smirk, "well you did fall asleep at the controls."

"...And?" Zeke asks.

"_And_ what? We talked."

"I'll get more out of you later," Zeke says.

"Threat or promise?"

"Both," Zeke smirks; I laugh, shaking my head. He's not gonna get much. Uriah comes back, this time with Tris and Christina in tow. Tris looks at me, "So, you made a deal with my idiot brother?" Zeke asks as they get closer. She nods, looking a little too eager for one of Uriah's ideas. "What's the deal?"

"He didn't tell you?" She asks. We shake our heads.

"I figured I'd let you do the honors," Uriah says.

"It was your idea," Tris retorts.

"The fact that you actually agreed is startling," I say. She looks up at me, "...his ideas usually end in disaster."

"Oh come on, Four," Uriah says, rolling his eyes at me, "this was actually a decent idea."

"I'm scared," I taunt.

"I'm getting a tattoo," Tris says, practically glowing with pride. Zeke's mouth hangs open slightly and I just stare at her, wide-eyed. Zeke laughs beside me.

"Please tell me you get to pick what it's going to be," he says. She nods again, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Of course, I'm not an idiot," Uriah says, shaking his head. "She gets to pick it, I just said it had to be bigger than a quarter, it can have a meaning, but the only catch is that we have to be able to see it." I suddenly wonder if she even knows where she's getting it, "So, stiff—," Tris gives him a look, but Uriah stops her, "—hey, until that tattoo is on your skin I still get to call you stiff. We made a deal." It's amusing to watch them—definitely like brother and sister. Tris rolls her eyes but he continues, "So, have you thought about what you're going to get?"

"Tori does offer ideas if you don't have one," Zeke cuts in. Tris looks a little weary at the sound of Tori's name.

"Then I guess I'll see when I get there," Tris says.

"Let's go then," Uriah heads off first, with Zeke and Christina right behind him. Tris is about to follow them, but I just want a second with her. I grab her arm.

"You actually made a deal with Uriah?" I ask her. She nods. "I'm surprised he even set guidelines."

"Uriah wouldn't be a jerk to me," I believe her, but I just shrug and follows her. Uriah holds the door open for her; she glances around the room in awe, like she's never seen a place like it. And I'm guessing she hasn't, but her expression is one of genuine curiosity. All of the designs Tori's made over the years or in her spare time hang all over the walls on glass slabs. Tori is standing by the chair with the needle all set and ready in her hands.

"Ah, you didn't tell me I'd be tattooing the _stiff_..." she says, smirking.

"My name's _Tris_," She says. I have to suppress my smirk—she has a fire in her, that's for sure.

"Right, how could I possibly forget the name I was never told," Tori retorts. "You can take a look around, I need to go grab more sterile wipes." She leaves the room, and Tris heads for the wall in the back. I don't see which one she grabs because Christina steps up beside her and blocks my view from the counter.

Zeke hits my shoulder, "ten bucks, she backs out."

I smirk, "ten bucks, she doesn't." He shakes me hand and I already know I'm right. She won't back out of this.

When Tori returns, she throws most of the boxes under the counter and puts one at the chair. "Found one?" She asks. Tris hands it to her, and on the slab is three birds, flying down. It's an interesting tattoo; I wonder what made her choose it. Oddly enough, it already suits her well.

"You ready to get marked up, stiff?" Uriah grins, leaning against the desk.

"Better get your 'stiffs' in now," I say to him, grinning, "I don't think she's backing out."

"I'm not," Tris says, shaking her head at us.

"Where do you want it?" Tori asks, holding a sterile wipe. Tris contemplates the question, and then her fingers graze the protruding bone on the base of her neck. My mouth goes dry slightly. _This is not the time to be getting worked up over her!_

"Right here," She answers. Tori runs the sterile wipe over her neck and turns the needle on. Tris looks between the four of us and then closes her eyes, sitting almost completely still. The moment Tori touches the needle to her skin, Zeke sighs.

Tori finishes fairly quickly; she puts the needle down and says, "You're all done." Tris opens her eyes again, and then looks down at the ink.

"Well...?" She asks.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," Zeke frowns.

"You, my friend, owe me ten bucks," I grin.

"You guys bet on this?" Tris asks. She sits up, wincing slightly.

"It looks nice!" Uriah says, patting her on the back, "definitely a good one. And we can see it. I guess I can't call you stiff anymore."

"Nope, you can't," She smiles triumphantly. Christina pushes her hair out of the way, observing the tattoo.

"Now I kinda want another tattoo," Christina jokes, throwing her arm around Tris's shoulders; Tris laughs, leaning into her hug.

"Well, this one's only free because I owed Uriah," Tori says, "any of you want one now, I'm charging."

"Damn," Christina sighs, "maybe next time." We leave the tattoo parlor shortly after. Christina keeps trying to see Tris's tattoo, "I would have never imagined you would actually get this done." She says.

"Why? You all wanted me to remain a stiff?" Tris asks, lightly tracing over the tattoo.

"Not really," Christina speeds up to walk beside Uriah—who is in the midst of telling Zeke and the rest of us about the overly-affectionate couple he walked in on in the bathrooms. Zeke is in stitches beside me but slow down, walking beside Tris.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, low enough for only her to hear. I remember the pain from getting mine done—though mine was much larger than three birds.

"A little," She answers, tracing it again. I can't help it, this is more skin I've ever seen on her.

"It looks nice," I say, smiling at her.

"Thanks." We're silent after that, listening to more of Uriah's ridiculous stories; I actually like the silences as much as when we talk.

We fall out of stride slightly, Tris is a little further behind me. I feel her nudge my shoulder and she asks, "what was the bet? The one you and Zeke made."

I smirk; I almost forgot, "thanks for reminding me. Zeke didn't think you'd go through with getting a tattoo, but I knew you would."

"How?" She questions. I can only shrug at first—I don't actually know, she just has that aura that tells me she doesn't give up or back down easily, or without good reason.

"I'm not exactly sure, just a gut feeling I guess. But Zeke thought that he'd talk you out of it by telling you that Uriah's judgment is not always the best to go by." She nods slowly.

"Well Uriah has been nothing but amicable to me," Tris replies, "he's like a brother to me."

"Uriah could be anybody's brother," I say with a smirk. The main area of the pit isn't quite as full tonight; I have a feeling Eric's had an easier time keeping track of everybody. I sigh, "Well, you should go with your friends. I'd rather avoid Eric tonight." Tris nods again.

"Okay," She says, biting her lip. I watch her as she heads off in the direction that Uriah and Christina went off in. I feel bad, pushing her away like that because of Eric. I'm not scared of him, I'm just scared of what he can do to her. It's not fair of me to always keep her at arm's length whenever he's lurking around.

I want to be able to be around her, despite him. I just need to figure out what to do first.


	4. Decision

**A/N: You guys, my week has been quite eventful, but not in the good eventful... I've been sick, as most of you probably know and I spent the better half of last night (majorly sick) dealing with a man who was high as a kite, who crashed into the pole in front of my house. And now today, only about 11 hours later, my grandmother calls me and says some guy just plowed into the side of her car pulling out of an intersection when she had the right of way. Everything happens twice in my household, it's lost it's shock factor honestly. *Sigh* I thank you for being patient with me, as always! This is for you lovely readers (and my piece of mind today!)**

CHAPTER 4 – DECISION

Over the next week, Zeke and Shauna arrive at my apartment almost every morning for runs and hit practice. I've never been more exhausted.

After a run down to the pier, through the city, and back, my legs are tired but Zeke wants to get some more hit practice in, so we head down to the training room. Shauna keeps trying to get Zeke to carry her, and they wrestle about it behind me. Over their noise, I can't tell if I actually hear voices in the room or not. I frown, pushing it open and expecting to see Eric and his friends, but instead I see Uriah aiming at Marlene across the room, with Lynn and Tris against a table to the far right. They all jump, startled and Uriah hides his arms behind his back.

Tris looks up at me.

Zeke comes to a halt behind me, "How did I know it was you guys?" He asks. They visibly relax the moment they realize it's us, and Uriah grins—he turns back to Marlene and fires. The muffin that was on her head hits the floor. I notice the gun he's holding is like the ones we used to keep around the compound for fun; there's no way it's is, he wasn't even enrolled at the school when they gave them out; it's Zeke's, from our freshmen year.

"What are you guys doing here?" Shauna asks, leaning against the closest table, "you're lucky it was us who showed up and not Eric, or his cronies." Lynn shrugs her off.

"Shooting a muffin off Marlene's head," Uriah replies. He's spinning the gun around his finger, but he accidentally squeezes the trigger and sends a small, green pellet off in our direction. Zeke dodges it, knocking into me. Zeke stands upright, holding his hand out as he walks closer to his brother.

"Give me that," he says. "How the hell did you get this?"

Uriah shrugs, "from your apartment." Shauna smirks, shaking her head. I grin—Zeke really needs to understand that he can't brother-proof his apartment; it never works.

"It was locked."

He grins and says, "the magic of a female's hair pin." He looks so proud of himself. Zeke gets him into a headlock, wrestling with him for a few minutes before Uriah manages to free himself and stand up.

"You guys shouldn't be back here," I say.

"You wouldn't tell on us," Uriah's right; I nod, but I don't take back what I said. They were down here without us originally—if it hadn't been us who walked in, they'd be in trouble. "Besides, you're back here now. Is it not okay with you if we hang out here?"

Shauna speaks up, asking, "why do you want to?"

"Why not?" Lynn says, "We'll be at the pit later tonight, only makes sense that we stay here." She stands at Shauna's side now, and it surprises me that she's the same age as Uriah—I had forgotten that. Lynn doesn't look like Shauna much, except for her eyes, her nose, and her jawline. She's a light brunette, but her hair's not nearly as blonde as Shauna's.

They definitely fight like sister's though.

Shauna sighs and turns to us, "well?" Zeke doesn't care much; I nod once. They head over to the bags while Uriah seeks out the target boards. Tris is watching me as I go over to one of the punching bags all the way at the end. My knuckles are swollen, black and blue and purple, but I wrap the tape around them anyway and start throwing punches.

I see a small body come up beside me; long, blonde hair being pushed back and I know it's her. She watches me for a few minutes, then asks, "how often do you come here?" I steal a glance at her; her eyes are bright as always, curious.

"Pretty often," I answer, "but usually just for fun. Zeke always likes to come down, so I go when he does." She nods, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Does that hurt?" She asks, looking at my hands. The bruises are hard to miss—I glance down at them, briefly, before shaking them out.

I shake my head, "not really, you get used to it after a while." I go again.

"Can I try?" I don't hold back my smile; just by looking at her, I know she won't be able to do much. Not that I'm saying she's not capable of it, but she's weak, physically. But I'll humor her.

"You want to?" She nods, so I step back and let her take my place. I touch her shoulders, trying to fix her stance but she tenses up the moment I do, and I realize I probably shouldn't have done it. But I'm merely showing her what to do, and she relaxes slightly. I add some pressure to her shoulders, "let your arms relax." She does, and I nudge her feet apart a little more.

"Good," she's positioned almost perfectly now, "now—," I reach over her shoulders and circle her wrists, pulling her arms up to defend herself. One less bad habit to break. "—keep them up here; don't punch with your arms punch with your weight." I show her how to; my fingers are gripping at the bend in her arm as I push it forward toward the bag.

She tries some on her own, losing her stance in between. I correct her arms a few more times, and she starts to get the hang of it. A momentary lapse in focus, I straighten her around the waist, pushing against her. I hear her breath catch in her throat, and she looks up at me for a moment. I clear my throat, "keep tension here. It helps." Nice cover up.

Tris goes again, getting better but she steps back and lets me take over again. I was enjoying just watching her; the severe concentration on her face, the pout in her lips when she didn't quite hit it hard enough. Uriah calls her over then, and from the corner of my eye I see her nod, and then she's gone.

I stop after a minute, and turn around to watch; she's holding the gun, but she's fires it and misses the first time. "Not bad," Uriah says, nodding. He pushes the neck of it over some, just with the tips of his fingers and has her start again. This time, she hits the target dead on.

Tris grins, and her whole face lights up with it. She fires off a few more, only missing once; I don't know how long I watch her for, but Zeke taps my shoulder, saying we have to get going. He's needed at the security room, and I have to start patrolling the main area soon; we start heading for the door and I turn to the others, "people are probably filling in now. We should go." I catch the door with my foot, and they start to file out of the room.

Tris is last, before me.

She walks with Uriah, who's aiming the gun at the back of Zeke's head, pretending to fire off pellets. Tris laughs, her shoulders shaking from it. Zeke goes down a different hallway, followed by Shauna. I leave Tris with Lynn, Marlene, and Uriah once again, and head up the stairs to the top landing for patrols.

XxXxX

I'm finding that I actually enjoy my time up in the control room, despite Zeke's attempts at pissing me off. I ended up with the control pad this time—the screen doesn't blur by in pixelated pieces this time.

Zeke yawns, loudly; he's only bored because he has nothing to do but watch. I smirk, more to myself, as I watch the screens. Zeke speaks up, "hey, we're going zip lining tonight."

He's never really bothered to tell me before, it was more him trying to make me jump out of my skin. But this time, he's not taunting. I shrug, "okay."

"You should come with us." I sigh.

"I'm not going, Zeke," I say, shaking my head, "you're not gonna get me up in that thing. Ever. I don't care if nobody's gotten hurt or fallen off of it; that's not enough reassurance for me." Zeke rolls his eyes.

"And if I said the stiff would be there?" He thinks that'll get me up in a sling—he should think again.

"I'm not going," I say, firmly. "Tris went last time, that didn't influence my decision then."

"You also weren't interested in her then," he points out. I wave him off, "come on, Four. Come with us. I won't make you get in the sling—,"

"—I'm not going up on the Hancock building either, Zeke," I say. He frowns, letting out an irritated sigh. I don't know why he still tries.

"You want to wait and catch the first person then?" He finally asks. I know where it ends; on the other side of the city, past Navy Pier. The alcove in the Harris Theater is initially the end of the zip line—I could wait there. He's so determined to make me go, though I won't actually be up there with the rest of them. I don't really care.

I nod once, "Fine, I'll wait there." Zeke perks up, clapping me on the back; I'm momentarily distracted and he steals the pad from my hands, flipping through screens faster than I was. I give him a hard look, though it doesn't do much. He just laughs and triumphantly holds it above him as though I'll try and reach for it again.

I've given up, for now.

XxXxX

It's a lot colder than I thought it would be; I'm trying to heat up my hands as I wait for the first person to come down. I breathe into my palms, rubbing them together for friction; the warmth only lasts a few seconds before the cold bites at my fingertips again.

I can't even imagine how cold it is up on top of the Hancock building.

I smirk, imagining a few color phrases from Zeke the moment he steps out of the elevator. The 'X' illuminates the alley way around me, and from further away I can see the first person soaring down. Her screams register in my ears first—somehow they find it fun. The adrenaline rush, maybe; I've had a few good ones myself, but those who are afraid of heights don't particularly find the appeal in zip lining to your potential death.

She's screaming so loud, I'm amazed she can still make a sound; her voice will be raw once she's done. I have to cover my ears as she gets closer, and then I realize it's Lynn; she begins to slow down and then comes to a smooth stop just above me.

Her hair frames her face in brown, wind-tossed curls; her face is flushed and she's laughing hysterically. I reach up, untightening the harness from around her midsection, helping her down onto the ground, "you're missing out," she says, pushing her hair from her eyes.

"Hardly," I reply; the next person comes in to view, screaming profanities into the air—they must be new. Lynn doesn't say anything more on the zip lining, but she occasionally brings up new things to comment on as she helps me get people down. She's much shorter than me, but she's taller than Tris I realize—she helps them down as I undo the harnesses.

I lost count of how many people have already come down; something tells me Zeke got more people this time before they stop for the winter—Shauna comes down next; her arms are thrown out at her sides. She would look like she was flying if it weren't for her facing the direction she came from.

Lynn and a boy, who's name I can't remember, help her down and get her out just as another body comes down the same way; facing away from us. I notice it's Christina, by her hair. She's the only one not wearing long sleeves—she makes me cold just looking at her, and I suddenly remember it's freezing down here. I keep my hands in my pockets and let them help people down for the time being.

When they help her down, Lynn comments that her body is ice cold from the ride, but Christina doesn't look bothered by it at all; I hold back the urge to ask her what's wrong with her. The others get ready for the next person; we hear her scream first, and then we see her coming in to view. Her arms are out at her sides, making her look like a bird—I recognize the sound of her voice; it's Tris. She's laughing in the midst of her screaming—she looks the same now as she did when I first helped her out of the net the first time she did this.

At first I'm afraid she's forgotten to pull the brake, but when she's only a short distance away she reaches back, pulling down on it and comes to a stop only a few feet away from the 'X'. Shauna loosens the harness and her small body lands into the tangle of arms beneath her.

Her hair won't lay flat, it sticks to her face and knots with other strands despite it being up in a pull. She tries her best to fix it, but gives up after a moment. I laugh, and walk up to her, tapping her shoulder. Even through her jacket, I can feel the bone jutting out. She turns to face me, and I smile at her, "how do you do this?" Uriah's still howling like a wounded cat when he gets closer.

She smiles, "I don't think about it. It's like flying." I give her a skeptical look; not because I want to be mean, but because I just don't understand it.

"You're looking down at the city."

"Looking—not falling, Four." She says, softly. She clears her throat, "were you waiting down here the whole time?" I nod—I sure as hell wasn't gonna stand up on top of a one hundred story building.

"Zeke couldn't talk me in to riding that down here; he wanted me to join him and the others tonight. The only way I'd come here was if I didn't have to ride that—," I point the boy coming to a stop, "—so I waited for the first person to get here."

"You're unbelievable," she sighs, shaking her head at me. I'm about to protest but she cuts me off, "What's the name they gave you? Legendary Four?" I scowl at her but she continues, "The Legendary Four...will climb a Ferris Wheel with me... throw knives at me... but he won't ride a zip line through the city?" I have a few choice statements, but I withhold them because I don't want to argue with her.

"This is different," I finally say, "there's nothing underneath me for thousands of feet." I look away from her, watching the next person who's managed to get themselves tangled in the harness—I look back at her so I don't have to see the potential disaster play out.

"You'll really never try it?" Tris asks quietly. I would be lying if I said that I hadn't thought about it, but my fear overwhelms me every time I even attempt the outcome. I sigh.

"I don't think so."

She bites her lip, then cautiously says, "It's not that bad." I frown—there's determination on her face, whether she notices it or not. I can practically see the gears moving inside her mind and I don't like the thought of it at all. But Tris doesn't try to press me on the matter anymore.

Zeke is the last one to come down. He howls into the cold air, pumping his fist the closer he gets to us. I roll my eyes at me and he responds with the middle finger in my direction, smirking as he gets out of the sling. He comes over to where we're standing, clapping me on the back, "See, nobody got hurt. Nobody's sling was left untightened," Zeke grins. I shake him off me.

"That's still not enough reassurance," I retort.

"Hey, if I fucked up my first time jumping into the pit and still made it in without a scratch, you can ride a zip line without falling to your death." Tris's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter beside me.

"What happened the first time you jumped?" She asks. Zeke's grin stretches across his entire face.

"Well, it wasn't my most finest of moments," he starts, walking beside her as everyone starts to head back. I walk on the other side of her, "I got up onto the ledge, but I misjudged the jump and ended up falling forward straight over. I was going for a more dramatic moment there."

I smirk, remembering that day perfectly. I imagined it being me who would fuck it up, "what was it you said on the way down...? Something like...?"

"Holy shit!" Zeke imitates with a shout, pretending he's there again. We laugh so hard, I notice Tris wiping at her cheeks. Her hands drop back down at her sides, but her fingers brush the back of mine and I smirk to myself. I know it was an accident, but it feels like she shocked me and the feeling of her skin against mine doesn't go away.

Zeke starts talking about the time he almost pushed Uriah off the ledge one day. Tris is quiet at my side, laughing occasionally; I don't move too much closer to her, but I do enough to graze my hand against hers. I watch her from the corner of my eye, and see a smile creep across her lips.

She glances at me meeting my eyes, and blushes. I peer over my shoulder, though nobody is there, and lean down so my lips are at her ear. Quietly, although bravely, I say "if I asked if I could hold your hand, would you tell me no?" I've got nothing to lose; and I won't turn back now.

Tris laughs, but she doesn't shake her head or pull away from me, "I wouldn't say no," she whispers back. I grin and slip my fingers between hers, giving her hand a light squeeze.

"So this is okay?" I ask after a moment. Tris nods and we follow the others, hand in hand, back to the pit.

XxXxX

The next morning, I'm greeted by Eric. The last person I need or want to see, and he looks even more aggravated than usual. "Where were you last night?"

"I was out with some friends," I answer; I'd rather not name names, in case he decides to search them out too.

"Well while you were out, someone got in to the control rooms and wiped some footage out," Eric hisses, practically glaring at me.

I know he's blaming me. "How is this my fault?" I ask, "I don't work in controls permanently."

"Well, now you do," Eric expects me to protest; I almost laugh. Working in controls was where I wanted to be originally, but Tori didn't want to be a leader without someone more trustworthy.

"So I'm no longer a leader?" Part of me's relieved, but the other part of me worries that I've actually lost it. I won't have as many privileges, nor will I be allowed to take Tris, or the others around the compound.

"I can't revoke your leader status," he grumbles, irritably, "Tori won't let me. But you'll be in controls until we need you. Make sure it doesn't happen again." Eric stalks off and let myself relax; at least Tori looked out for me. I need to find Zeke; he never leaves the controls without making sure someone else is there.

Zeke is at the chasm, with Shauna, down by the lower, flatter rocks. I make my way down there, debating what I'll say. I don't want to lash out, despite how pissed off I am that Eric was quick to blame me, but I don't exactly want to go about things too lightly.

"Who was in controls last night?" I ask; my voice sounds louder, too harsh, as it echoes off the walls. They look up at me, and Zeke shrugs.

"Uh I thought Sean was," he answers, "I told him we were heading out." I wrack my brain for a face to the name, but I come up blank. I don't remember anyone who works within the compound with that name—but then again, I don't socialize much either.

"You thought? Because Eric's chewing me out over some lost footage from last night," I say. My jaw tightens a little as I contain myself, "did he mention that to you at all?"

"No," Zeke replies, shaking his head, "he didn't mention it."

"Well, for however long Eric decides I'm not needed around the pit, I'll be taking over in controls so it doesn't happen again," Shauna shrinks back against the rails. Zeke looks like nothing is wrong.

"Didn't you want to be in controls?" He asks.

"Yes," I sigh, "but that's not the point, Zeke! I almost lost my position as leader today, and none of this was even my fault. I need to know exactly who was in the control room last night, and I need to have a word with them because I'm not taking the blame for something that was out of my control." He nods after a moment.

"It was Sean."

XxXxX

After seeking out Sean, and finally yelling at something—or in this case, someone—I head up to the control room. Turns out he left the controls for about an hour to sneak around with a younger girl. I'm half-tempted to knock his lights out, but I hold back.

Zeke is at the first set of screens, keeping the control pad away from Uriah, "why are _you_ back here?" I ask, "don't you ever go to class?"

"Calm down, you pansycake," Uriah says, rolling his eyes, "it's lunch hour." I wave him off and head to the other set of screens.

For the most part of the day, it's monotonous just watching people walk in and out of the main area, the apartments, and other areas; nothing too special happens during the day.

I keep watch on Eric, who seems especially harsh today. I wonder if the lost footage really bothers him, or if he's just making more of an effort to be an asshole than usual.

Uriah stops by again when classes get out; he stays for a while, fooling around with the cameras like Zeke usually does. I end up getting it away from him, only to have them double up against me and this time, get both of the control pads.

I decide to tell Zeke that I'll be heading out early; he suspects it's because of Tris, and though he's right, I don't acknowledge is stream of invasive and / or inappropriate questions. I turn to Uriah, "can you tell her to meet me by the net tonight?" I ask. "Midnight."

Uriah nods, and then he digs his elbow into my ribcage, "Zeke told me you were after somebody. I didn't believe him; I had to see it for myself."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose to relieve myself of the headache that's forming, and say, "do you two really have to make a big deal out of this?"

Uriah smirks, "oh come on, Four! It's a rare occasion! We may never see it again!" I swing at him, just catching his shoulder. "Okay, okay. I'll tell her."

"Thank you."

"I never thought we'd see the day," Zeke says, pretending to tear up, "that our dear friend, Four, would finally ask a girl out." I drop my head into my hands, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes. They burst out laughing, and Uriah claps me on the shoulder.

"You know we have to," he says.

I sigh, "I know..."

He nudges me then, and I look up, "so...you've got eyes for Tris. The _stiff_."

"Aren't you not allowed to call her that now?" I ask. Uriah shrugs.

"We're in confidence." I wouldn't be so sure; I would love to watch him get his ass kicked—especially by Tris. "Somehow, I don't find it all that shocking that it's Tris." My mouth drops open slightly; what does he mean?

Zeke laughs at my reaction and adds in, "I don't think either of us is surprised."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You and Tris just seem so similar," Uriah answers, lifting a shoulder. "I mean, personality wise I guess."

"Yeah, she's a little on the short side." Zeke scoffs, but he's not mean about it. I grin a little; she is short. But I don't mind it, I like that about her.

She's almost like a small dog; always trying to play with the big dogs. And somehow, that makes her seem just like one.

"Don't make fun of her," I say after a moment. They share a knowing look, before Zeke laughs again.

XxXxX

I leave the control room around eleven-thirty and head to the net; I swipe one of Zeke's flasks before I go and shove it into my pocket.

As I reach one of the back hallways, I pull it out and take a sip to see what I've grabbed; it's just beer, but it's one of the cheaper kinds. Not as good, it's slightly pungent and not as easy on the way down but it'll do.

I'm not in there long when I hear footsteps come up the stairs, "hey." She says, her voice wavers slightly. I turn to see her, standing in the darkest part of the room. She's pale, so it's easier to see her.

I jump down from the platform, taking a few steps towards her as she meets me at the middle of the room, "hey." I reach my hand out for her; partly because I'm selfish and I want to hold her hand, and also because I want to help her into the net with me.

"What are we doing?" She asks.

"Well," I glance down at our hands, "here, Eric won't bother looking—," I mentally kick myself; because I don't want to hide her, especially if it's just because Eric's around. It's a habit I need to break: hiding shiny things from the bully out of fear of seeing it destroyed. "And I wanted to see you."

She pouts, "Why?"

I can only shrug, and glance up at the net. I don't have a real reason other than for my own personal benefit. I just want to be with her, "want to join me?" Her face contorts in curiosity for a moment, and then she nods. It also gives me an excuse to touch her.

My fingers wrap around her waist, and I lift her up into the net. My height works to my advantage, because I hoist myself up and roll down to a stop beside her in the dip of the material.

"What are we doing?" Tris asks again, watching me closely. The rope digs into my arms the way I am, so I shift around a moment, stretching out.

"When I like to be alone, I come here sometimes," I say, glancing up, "nobody usually jumps down here at this time of night; it's peaceful here, and the sky is clear so you can see the stars." The only light source is the stars; they're not that bright down here but they illuminate her enough that I can see her face.

"So you just lay here?" She sounds a little amused, and I just shrug, nodding. It's peaceful. The net cradles us, causing her to sit as close to me as gravity allows. Her knee is pressed up against my leg; energy surges through my skin from hers, it's unlike anything I've ever felt but I like it. Hesitantly, she relaxes into the net, staring up at the opening again.

I almost forgot the flask in my pocket, until I hear the liquid bounce inside the container; I pull it out and unscrew the cap, instantly catching her attention.

I smirk slightly, out of uncertainty. I don't know how she feels about alcohol. I've never actually seen her drink it, "Sorry." Tris laughs, shaking her head.

"It's fine," she says. I tip the flask back, draining some of the liquid from it. "Just don't get drunk on me," She jokes, shyly. I nod at her, and laugh.

"I won't," I promise, taking another sip.

"What's in there?" She asks; I could be a smart ass and joke with her, but I decide against.

"Just beer," the flask's opening touches my lips again, "not one of the best; this stuff's kinda gross, but I don't mind it too much." She nods, chewing on her lip. I can't help but smirk, watching her. "You can try it if you want." I hold it out to her—I'm joking, but the amusement on her face is enticing.

"I haven't had beer before," she replies. After a moment, she takes it from me and brings it up to her lips. I just watch her, fascinated by the small movements she makes before she tips it back. She treats it like it's forbidden, and it kind of is for our ages, but that's what I like about her.

Her face contorts in disgust, and if her expression hadn't amused me, my mouth would have gone dry from watching her swallow. Tris hands it back to me, and says, "that's..._gross_." I laugh a little harder, nodding.

"And now you know what beer tastes like," I tease, taking another sip. "Nobody actually likes it—most just drink it because they can."

"And would you classify as most?" She asks. She's definitely quick; I grin, lifting a shoulder.

"Depends," I say, "I guess it's fifty/fifty." She nods, and looks down at her hands; I watch her again, taking a few more sips to empty some of the flask, "want to play a game?"

"Uh, what kind of game?"

"How about 20 questions," I suggest. "We take turns—I ask you something, and then you get to ask me something. You can only pass on one question though."

"And if we get to 20?"

i shrug again, "start a new round?" Tris contemplates her answer; I'm tempted to reach across the space and free her bottom lip from her teeth, but I hold back, keeping my hands on the flask.

"You first," she says.

"Okay," I sit up, and the sound of the net, stressing to adjust my weight, is all I hear, "Is Tris your real name, or a nick name?" Start of simple.

"Nick name." Tris answers. I nod; I figured as much.

"Your turn." I say.

"Uh," she hesitates, then shyly asks, "...favorite color?"

"Easy... blue." I want to be more descriptive; but saying 'your blue-greyish eyes' might freak her out, "What's your real name?"

"...Beatrice." She says, quietly. "What's your real name?" I knew she would ask eventually; I usually forego telling anyone my real name. I can't bear the secrets behind it, but something in me wants to trust her. And I want her to know.

"Tobias," I answer. It sounds foreign, especially when I've been called Four for so long now. It's the name that links me to my family; "When is your birthday?"

"February sixth," Tris says. "Why is your nickname Four?" I think back to the summer, when Zeke and Uriah first started to call me that, and I smirk.

"Four fears," I say simply. "What's your favorite color?" In the darkness I can't see why she covers her face, but part of me realizes she's embarrassed.

"...blue," she answers, quietly. I almost don't hear her.

"What's so embarrassing about that?" I ask. "We like the same col—,"

"—Hey, it's my turn!" I'm amused, she's just scolded me; I put my hands up and she continues, "Sorry... um...what's your tattoo?"

I smile, cupping the back of my neck like I'll be able to scope out the ink, "I'll show you sometime." She smiles, nodding.

I don't know if it's the alcohol that's given me more confidence now, or if I've just somehow forced myself to ask it, but my voice is unwavering, "have you ever been kissed?" I've been staring at her mouth too long tonight. I hear her suck in a breath, and her eyes widen—more so than usual; the curiosity is replaced by something else. I only catch a glimpse of it before her gaze drops to her fingers, tangled in the net.

Tris shake her head, and when she opens her mouth to speak I see that her lip is swollen, "No."

She looks so innocent, I laugh and reach for her hand. I squeeze her fingers and say, "you don't have to be embarrassed by that." I haven't either, I want to say.

"W-why did you ask me that?" She looks up at me through her eyes lashes, gnawing at her poor lip again.

I just watch her for a moment, and then I sigh; what do I have to lose? I refuse to go back now, if I do this.

She looks smaller, sitting in front of me like this.

I realize then that alcohol can't make me forget her, even for a second. It's strong, and the more I drink it the more lucid I become but it doesn't make me forget how soft she feels beneath my fingertips, or how wide and curious her eyes are. I can't forget how small she is compared to me, and just how much I love that.

The feelings don't disappear, they become stronger. Induced by the poison.

The need to be around her, to touch her, to kiss her... all heightened as I finished off the burning liquid. I don't want to walk away from her, or try to forget her. I don't want to stay away from her because I'm afraid of these feelings.

I want to be terrified, and I want to be kissing her when my heart is about to hammer through my chest.

My decision is made. I know when the buzz subsides, I'll have more fear and less confidence but my decision won't change; alcohol wasn't the decider here.

I stare at her lips, and then meet her eyes again. I have to swallow the fear in me, because despite how badly I want her right now I'm still scared out of my mind. But my answer is crystal clear, "because I really want to kiss you right now."

I bring my hand up to her face, stroking cheekbone idly, before finally freeing her lip from her teeth. I ask, "would you let me?"

She covers my hand with hers, and nods, and relief floods through me. I smile, feeling it stretch across my face before lightly pressing my lips to hers.

The shock jars me. Her lips are soft, and they fit against mine almost perfectly and I cup the curve of her smooth neck, allowing myself to kiss her with more confidence.

At first, she doesn't move but then I feel her arms wrap around me, pulling me closer. I shift my weight, and I realize that I'm above her; my fingers grip the net beside her head, and I try to keep my body from pressing in to hers too much.

My heart is pounding against my ribcage; I'm almost positive it's the rushing sound in my ears. I didn't know kissing her would be this sweet; this addictive, like the finest poison.

And then I realize just how much I prefer her to alcohol.

She pulls back, breathing against my jaw and my neck; I shiver above her, and my fingers instinctively tighten around the rope, "Four—,"

"You can call me Tobias," I whisper breathlessly. I feel lightheaded, but euphoric, that I rest my forehead against hers, "it's nice to hear my name again."

"Can I sit up?" Tris asks, lightly pressing against my chest. I nod and sit up, pulling her with me. She closes her eyes, trying to catch her breath.

"Are you alright?" I ask, curling my fingers under her chin.

"I'm fine," She says, "...but I need to go." _I don't understand_... My hands falls away from her face and she crawls to the other side of the net, jumping down from it. My stomach drops, and I feel a twinge of pain from my chest to my head and my hands.

She exits the room, practically running down the stairs. I drop my head into my hands, sighing loudly. It sounds sharp in the room, echoing up through the opening.

_What was I even thinking?_ I still feel her surging under my skin; the feel of her lips on mine is unforgettable. But it makes me wonder why she said yes if she just ran away.

I don't know how long I sit in the net for, but when I jump down a sharp pain starts in my ankles from the impact. I don't necessarily feel like crying, but the pain stings in my eyes like I'm about to.

I don't go back to the main area, or the control room; I wouldn't be able to face either at the moment. I go to my apartment.

The moment I'm inside, I throw the flask at the wall with a great enough force to shatter it. I owe Zeke a new one, but I don't care.

I don't know what I'm doing; around her, I feel like I never know. And I act on selfish impulse. But I can't tell who I'm really angry with this time.

I can't just sit here—I need a distraction.

I get changed into a sweater, sweatpants, and my sneakers and leave my apartment, walking over shattered plastic.

I run until my lungs burn, and my legs ache. Until the sweat pools on my back, and my neck and I have to stop to catch my breath.

The pier is usually empty, especially this late at night but the further I walk down, the more I make out the silhouette of a small girl, with long, blonde hair, and her head hanging low.

For some reason, I'm not surprised she's here. Somehow I always gravitate back to her—I always find her without meaning to, and even then I can't tell if it's accidental or intentional.


	5. Boyfriend

**A/N: This is kind of a short chapter, eh. I will be posting a new chapter for Break Me Down later on tonight, however, I really need to get some stuff done (that I've been putting off for too long now, since I've been sick). It should be up tonight, but if it's not you have my permission to yell at me (haha).**

CHAPTER 5 – BOYFRIEND

"One of us is gonna have to find a new place to run to," from where I'm standing, I see the way her body flinches at the sound of my voice. She turns, facing me with a sullen expression, but I don't meet her eyes; I drop my gaze to the gravel.

Tris stands up, brushing the dirt off her clothes, "Probably me," her voice wavers, despite her attempt to sound even. "I mean, you know...since you've known this area longer." Her voice drops lower on each word, and then she's silent. I don't like this—we're too quiet, too wound up. My hands fidget in my pockets. I want to say something, but I don't, "I'm sorry..." she says, quietly, "I know you've heard that from me a lot already—,"

I nod, "I have," I reply, sounding harsher than I mean to.

"...right," Tris sighs, anxiously rubbing at the back of her neck. I see her neck revert as she swallows, and she clears her throat, "I didn't...you're angry with me..." I'm not, or at least I don't think so. I don't know. I shake my head anyway.

I sigh, "I'm not angry with you, Tris. I'm just confused. I don't understand what happened..."

Tris shrugs, and says, "I don't either." I feel the anger in me dwindle some; we're both confused and unless we get some answers, or find some common ground, it's gonna remain that way. I don't want that to happen.

"I have a few questions," I say, carefully, "I'm hoping you can answer them for me." She nods, and I continue, "did you even want me to kiss you?" This is not the most important question I have, but it seems like it's a fair start. If she let me kiss her because she wanted me too, I'll continue. But if she let me kiss her, because she thought it was the right thing to say, then I'll have to walk away. If this is all one-sided, I won't continue.

Tris nods again, and I feel the weight on my chest let up, "I did." I can only nod; I believe her. But I can't tell if I believe her because I want to—because I don't want to lose her, and I'm selfish, or if I believe her because I truly do.

I decide it's because I truly do.

She steps towards me, cautiously, and adds, "I did want you to."

The lump in my throat no longer chokes me; I feel my lips threatening to turn up in a smile but I withhold it. It's still too early to rejoice. The scowl on my face disappears, but the set in my jaw still remains. Tris comes to a stop in front of me.

"So why did you run away?" I ask after a moment.

"I don't know," she answers, so dejectedly, it comes out like a whine. "I'm afraid... I mean, I guess I just don't know what I'm doing." I want her to look at me, so I can try and see what she's thinking but she keeps her eyes downcast, away from my face.

I don't know what's wrong with me; even though she ran away, I still can't resist the urge to touch her. Especially when she looks so defeated. And maybe it's because I'm arrogant enough to believe that I can make her feel better.

In that moment, I'm able to accept the inevitability of how I feel for her all over again.

I take her hand in mine, squeezing her fingers; she doesn't pull away. Her hand is soft.

I have nothing left to lose, I take a step closer to her and lean my head down so my lips are at her ear, "And are you afraid of me?" I'm not sure I want to know the answer, but if I didn't want to I wouldn't have asked, I know that.

"Yes," she says. I feel pain and then nothing; I'm numb, "...and no." _What does _that_ mean?_

"Should I know what that means?" I ask, "Or should I just trust what you're saying?"

"The latter would be a lot easier," Tris admits, "but of course you wouldn't know what I mean; I'm not making much sense." She casts her eyes down, looking back down at our hands. "I want to give you a chance, I just can't promise that I won't get scared by things..." I feel my heart swell in my chest; the numb dissipates, like ice breaking. She actually wants this—_us_—like I do.

Without even thinking, I press a kiss to her cheek. I know that blindly allowing myself to feel this intensely for her may only get me hurt me in the end. And if she feels anything even remotely close towards me, she may end up hurt in the end. We may hurt each other. But a brave man never surrenders.

Her eyes are glassy as she looks up at me, like she's about to cry, "What was that for?"

"I'll trust it." I say with a shrug. I shouldn't be so nonchalant about it, but I want to trust her. I do trust her. "But you have to do me a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"If you want to give this a chance," I don't hold back my smile this time, "you have to tell me when something is wrong." Tris stares at me, taken back by my words. Like she expected my condition to be absurd.

"You mean like... I set the pace?" She asks. I nod, slowly. Exactly that. She bites her lip, watching me, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why me?" Is it really that hard for her to see my reasoning? I scowl.

"What do you mean?"

Tris visibly shrinks back, lowering her head, "I just feel like...we have different reasons." I feel anger, and then I feel hurt. She thinks I'm going to use her?

"You think all I'll want from you is sex?" She nods. "Why do you think that?"

Tris frowns at me, looking like she's at a loss for words, "I mean, why else would a nineteen-year-old guy, who could have any girl he wants, choose an inexperienced-with-all-things-related-dating seventeen-year-old girl like me?" I don't know what delusion she's operating under—our ages have nothing to do with this. Just because she's seventeen doesn't mean I see her as easy prey. I barely even know what I'm doing around her; everything happens on its own when she's in close proximity to me.

I can only shake my head at her inane conclusion. I grip her chin between my fingers and lift her face so she's looking me in the eye, "Because that nineteen-year-old guy is just as inexperienced as she is," I speak slowly, carefully, because I know she understands what I'm saying, "but he's trying." She looks like she's about to argue, but freezes.

And then her face turns bright red.

"I don't know what to say," she mumbles.

"Do you want this?" I ask, "because I need to know. The truth, please. If not, I'll walk away. Because I can't do this, if you won't trust me." It'll just make things ten times harder for me; I don't know what I'll do if I have to force myself to walk away from her.

I'm selfish when it comes to her, despite my hatred for the fault.

Tris nods, "I do want this. But I don't want to set the pace; I want it to be up to both of us." And just like that, all the tension in my body disappears. After a moment, I nod; I wouldn't have minded if she set the pace completely, but this tells me she's put enough confidence in me.

We fall silent. I can feel her eyes on me, like she's waiting for me to say something. I glance around the pier; it's empty, aside from our presence. I rock on the heels of my sneakers, and ask, "so...can I kiss you?" She laughs, and I think maybe I've asked too soon but she then nods.

I don't waste a second; I lift her face up and kiss her, hard.

My fingers grip her shoulders, holding her to me as close as I can; her lips are cold from the air, but soft against mine, and they warm up like her skin. Before I pull away, I kiss her one last time and my hands dropped to hers.

"What about the others?" She asks, "can we tell them?"

"Zeke already knows," I sigh; that was a battle I knew I would never win, Zeke knows me too well. He'd figured it out before I did.

"I'm just wondering," Tris says, "because I don't want to tell them if you don't want me to."

I frown a little, "Why do you say that?"

Tris shrugs, but she bites her lip like she's unsure of something, and says, "well, you're always boarded up when Eric's around. I feel like _this_ wouldn't be different." I should have known. She's not stupid, she knows the war between Eric and me; but I don't think I should have to hide her when he's around. It wouldn't be fair to her, and it certainly would get tiresome. I've decided I don't care if he sees me holding her hand, or kissing her, or just being around her in general. I won't let him do anything to her. I sigh.

"Well, _this_ is," I say, giving her fingers a small squeeze, "and I'm finding that I don't care what Eric thinks. I want to be able to hold your hand without worrying that he'll see. So I don't care if they know." Tris smiles.

"So, what? Does this make you my boyfriend?" She looks shy when she says it. Her _boyfriend_..._me_. I grin, I like it.

"Do you want me to be your boyfriend?" I ask.

"Yeah," she nods, "I do." I remember when I first met her, I assumed she was hiding from an ex-boyfriend; but really it was just a guy friend who wanted that title. And because I'm arrogant, I can't help but think it: _sucks to be him_.

I walk her back to the school; she listens to my stories, most of which consist of stupid things Zeke and I did when we were students. I mention the time Zeke was plastered, and we got caught because he was screaming profanities about the teachers down the halls; sophomore year. That was not a fun night, getting chastised for nearly two hours straight.

Now, looking back at it it's pretty hilarious.

I get on the topic of the double dates he would drag me on; Tris laughs when I tell her how I somehow always offended the girl I was with. I have to laugh with her, because I have no way of erasing those times—it's the only thing I can do.

When we arrive at the school, all of the memories, good and bad, come back to me. I try to focus on the good ones. I glance down at my watch, and sigh, "what is it?" Tris asks.

I shake my head, "nothing I have to worry about. But you...it's already two am."

"Oh," it's all she says. She stares at the doors for a moment, then turns to me, "Well, I should probably go." I nod, but don't let go of her hand. She doesn't move from her spot, either. I want to kiss her again; she has a nice mouth.

But I don't want to push my boundaries tonight. I lean down and press my lips to her forehead, "good night." She smiles, and it almost looks sad, "'night," she whispers. Then she turns and gets the door open, slipping half of her body through.

I start heading back towards the pit, finishing my jog. And when I get back to my apartment, I find myself with my forehead against the back of the door, an idiotic grin plastered to my face.


	6. Invincible

CHAPTER 6 – INVINCIBLE

I try to sleep for the better part of an hour, but I constantly twist and turn for a comfortable position. I'm somnolent, however, my mind thinks of Tris.

I'm tired of being so removed from everyone, before her it was usually just Zeke and Shauna, and occasionally Uriah. Before Tris, I preferred the silence and isolation because I was used to it all my life. But now since I met her, I don't want to hide away and forget how she makes me feel.

Before her, the urge to hold a girl's hand, or kiss one never occurred to me. There were no warm stirrings in my stomach that became violent bursts of excited anxiety, and there were no absentminded touches. And it's only been with her that these feelings come alive.

To suddenly wake up and realize that somebody could be just like you, but so completely different in other aspects, is startling—it's unbelievable, yet dangerously tempting. It's easy to get lost in those feelings.

The clock reads just after four; I've been away from her for nearly two hours. I must sound lovesick, counting the time. I roll on my side, away from the clock and look out at the darkened city. I already went for a run—and took a shower—to go now, again, would be ridiculous. And my legs are too tired to stand up right now anyway.

So I stare up at the ceiling, lying on my back. From learning to fall asleep on my stomach almost every night, it's become a comfortable sleeping habit. My thoughts are just too loud, too active for sleep at the moment.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness quite well, I can see all of the marks and scratches indented in the cemented walls, and the countless graffiti stand out in a grayscale of various shades. None of which can distract me much.

My eyelids feel heavy, but I'm wide awake.

Undoubtedly, one of my worst nights of sleep yet; not counting all of the times I stayed awake in blistering pain. Those were times when cold showers became my savior, numbing my back and making me forget what pain was. This is why staying awake frightens me, because I relive the turmoil of my childhood; I let it play over and over in my mind, and I'm powerless to stop it because I remember it all too well. Every crippling belt snap, every scream held back by clenched teeth or a fist.

My body breaks out into a sweat, and I'm uncomfortable. My hands tremble and I clench my fists around the pillow, willing the thoughts to go away. I can't live with these memories forever—something has to change. I won't live, looking back on these moments of weakness that left me helpless and hopeless. It's all too much to carry on.

It's just harder letting go when you don't know where to begin.

I try to focus on her face, and breathing through my mouth. Both tend to help when trying to forget doesn't.

XxXxX

Zeke knocks on my door around eight.

I'm drunk from sleep—or lack of. Only four hours. I sit up for a moment, then stand and unlock the door, making it a point to glare at him as he walks in. "You're quite the morning person, sunshine," he scoffs. He carries two muffins, holding one out for me.

I take it without question, but set it down on the counter. Food isn't on my mind at the moment, sleep is. Zeke bites into his, sitting up on the countertop. I'm too tired to scold him that a chair is no more than two feet away.

"What time did you get in?"

I shrug, stifling a yawn, "Three, I think."

"Out with the stiff?"

"She has a name," I retort, "and I was, but not until three."

"Okay, so how long _were_ you with her?" Zeke asks; he rips the top off my muffin and breaks it into pieces, plopping one into his mouth. I scowl at him; I didn't say I wasn't going to eat it.

"I was out with her until about two."

"So..." Zeke starts, "what's the verdict? You two together now?"

I feel triumphant when I answer, "Actually, yes." I think back to last night, when I had teased her about being her boyfriend—and she had said yes. I'm still wonderstruck by the whole thing.

Zeke smirks, "We'll see how long she puts up with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, feeling indignant. I'm almost positive he's referring to all of the other girls he's set me up with; Tris is different. Much different.

"Well, you're not exactly nice," he says, waving me off, "I could be wrong—from what I heard, she's stood up against Eric."

That she did. She also let me throw knives at her; I think if I had scared her off, we wouldn't be where we are right now.

"I'm not gonna offend her," I grumble, defensively. Though I don't know that for sure. All I know is that I can try, and for what it's worth, she doesn't seem to be too easily offended.

"Whatever you say."

"You know, your lack of confidence in me is _very_ reassuring."

XxXxX

On the way out of the control room, being sing-songed to by both Zeke_ and_ Uriah after mentioning that Tris and I are together, Zeke says, "I need to see this for myself."

"What is so hard to believe?" I ask, "you were practically trying to make me throw myself at her—,"

"—which you blatantly disregarded," he adds.

"I didn't disregard it. But I wasn't about to be obnoxious to get her attention."

The door at the end of the hall opens—as if on cue—and in walks Christina, followed by Tris. She looks calm, but a blush creeps across her skin and I smile at her. She smiles in return.

When they're close enough, I reach out for her hand; her fingers are quite long for a girl's, and thin. Her hands are soft, nothing compared to my rough, and calloused palms. I give her hand a light squeeze, and grin at Zeke, "believe me now?"

He scowls at me, but looks over at Tris for a moment. Uriah says, "He didn't believe you, I did."

"It's not that I didn't," Zeke replies, rolling his eyes at me, "I'm just saying, you're not exactly nice and she might be a goddess for having the ability to put up with you." I almost repeat what he'd said to me this morning, but Tris speaks up before I do.

"You're already talking about me?" I realize she's joking. I'm actually stunned at how at ease she is; I admire that about her, that she realizes this doesn't change how they see her. I grin, pulling her closer into my side. Her small frame fits perfectly.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay," Zeke says, looking between the both of us, "I have to watch the cameras... otherwise, I have to face your wrath again." I sigh, shaking my head at him. He says it like I stormed the compound and threatened to throw him over the chasm.

"I didn't yell at you," I say, irritably, "but the lost footage wasn't my fault."

Zeke holds his hands up in front of him and says, "It wasn't mine either."

"Lost footage?" Tris asks.

Zeke shakes his head, "different story, for a different time." Zeke turns to leave, and starts up the stairs to the controls, while Uriah and Christina head for the pit, waving a goodbye to us. Tris's eyes linger after them for a moment—I have to remember not to be selfish, that it won't always be me she chooses to spend time with.

"You can go with them if you want," I say, keeping my voice soft, "I'm not forcing you to stay here with me."

She gives me a look between a sad frown and glare, "don't do that. I want to spend time with you." She says it confidently and I smile, cradling her face in my hand. This time, I allow the selfish part of me to rejoice.

"I just don't want you to think you have to stay with me." I say after a moment. Tris nods.

"I want too." She answers.

"We can go to my apartment if you want peace and quiet," I don't know how strongly she feels about that option, but I put it out there incase she's bored with the pit. A part of me feels now isn't the right time to suggest it, but the other part says she's strong enough to hear it and decide, herself, "Or we can go out there."

"No," She shakes her head, "your apartment sounds fine."

"Fine?" I don't want it to be just fine. I want to know what she's really thinking. I need to know she's not just agreeing with me to spare my feelings or anything. I know it would be easier on her, if nothing were sugarcoated between us. I try to smile, but instead I sigh, keeping my eyes firmly locked on hers, "you can talk to me about anything, you know. If going to my apartment bothers you—,"

"—just trust me," Tris answers, quietly. "Let's go." I don't want her to close up around me; that'll only makes things harder for the both of us. I unlock my door, and let her in first. This is not the first time she's been here, so this isn't really anything new for her. However, being with me is—which makes this new.

"Do you want something to drink?" I offer. She nods after a moment.

"Water's fine, thank you," she replies, sounding strained. I go into my barely unutilized kitchen, and grab a bottled water from the fridge. "Did you do that?" She asks, pointing towards the wall. I glance over at the graffiti, despite knowing what that wall looks like by heart. I shake my head, and walk up beside her, holding the water out.

"No. People before me did. I just don't cover it up or go over it." Her fingers skim mine when she reaches for the bottle. She stares at the mural a little longer, as if avoiding my gaze. I touch her face again, dragging her lip out from between her teeth. "Are you okay?" I ask. Before she has the chance to give me a one-word answer, I add, "honestly."

Tris sighs, nodding, "I am, really." I believe her. I just wish she would talk to me more. Instead of pressing her with questions, I hold her hand and lean in to kiss her forehead like I did last night. I kiss her nose, and then her lips. She relaxes noticeably.

When I pull back, my eyes land on the tattoo just above her neckline. I remember watching her get it done—how she barely flinched after knowing what the pin pricks felt like. She looked like she was sleeping, sitting in the chair so calmly. It's really the only time I've seen her to content, and still. "I never did get to see it that well," I say, carefully brushing the fabric away from the ink to get a better look.

Her skin leaves my fingertips feeling numb.

Tris laughs, slipping her fingers into my hair, "I was serious before though, Tris. You can talk to me about anything." I release her shirt, and meet her eyes.

"I know," she says, "I just can't think of anything...at the moment." I almost believe her, but then she sighs and adds, "That's not true..."

"I figured as much." I answer gently. The silence isn't so bad; it's not horribly unbearable. She keeps her eyes at shoulder level. I think I know why she's hesitant, however, I don't want to sound accusing or all-too-knowing. Instead, I kiss her cheek briefly and ask, "what's wrong? Do you still think all of this is about...me just wanting sex from you?" She tenses up beneath my hands, but shakes her head.

"No," She replies, "I don't still think that. I'm only afraid of what I want." My mouth goes dry. What she _wants_. _What_ does she want?

"What do you want?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even. "me?" I feel joy, and I feel terror. I am excited and nervous, because the selfish part of me wants her answer to be yes but the timid, weary of any affection part of me doesn't want to know the answer. Because if she wants me, even a fraction of how badly I want her, I won't ever be able to forget that she said it.

Before I can think any more on it, Tris nods. And I'm doomed.

I wrap my arms around her waist, embracing her completely. I honestly don't know what to say—I'm not sure how I'm supposed to react to her confession, but I think this is enough for now. "Someday, if you still want me," I say, kissing the top of her head, "we can."

She stands on her tiptoes, wraps her arms around me tighter, and kisses me with a force I can't compete with—only keep up with.

XxXxX

Watching her laugh leaves me awestruck.

The way her lips part, and her face looks completely lit up. I tilt closer each chance I get, leaning on my hands, on either side of her legs, atop the counter. She's still shorter than me, by a few inches, despite being higher up than my bed.

We had tried to finish our game of twenty questions, but I was distracted by how her expression changed when she tried to think of an answer, or when she thought of a question. Eventually she just let me kiss her.

I stand in between her legs, holding her waist while she rests her arms around my neck. I never gave this kind of intimacy much thought—how you could practically read every expression, and emotion, or thought, just by looking into someone else's eyes. Just by holding them close. It's like we're in our own little world, one only we know everything about.

I'm reluctant to pull away from her lips, but air is a necessity if I want to continue.

I know, eventually, she will find out about my lack of a happy childhood; I'm afraid of how she'll react. But I want to enjoy this time with her, where I feel whole instead of empty.

After a while, I get tired of standing and we make our way over to my bed. For the most part, we talk, or we kiss. I keep my hands in my lap but when I pull her mouth to mine they touch her hips, or the small of her back.

Whether her movements are intentional, or just an act of easiness, her legs tangle with mine just below our knees. I listen to Tris breathe, and match my breaths with the rhythm of hers. Hers get slower the later it gets, and when I peer down at my watch I realize it's already midnight.

Her eyelids droop, and her body relaxes; she's falling asleep. I smirk slightly, and nudge her shoulder. She hums, but it sounds more like a whine, "Tris, you're falling asleep."

"So?" She asks, curling into my side more. I laugh, and press a kiss to her temple.

"I'm still here," I say, quietly. I don't know how she feels about sharing a bed with me; I can't imagine the idea repulses her, or anything like that, however, I don't think she'd be entirely comfortable with it. "I can take the floor." She sits up, slowly, like it's taking every ounce of strength to complete the task, and pushes her hair from her eyes.

"I can't kick you out of your own bed," she yawns.

"It's not kicking me out if I offered, Tris."

"Still..." She's so stubborn. But I grin, pecking her lips.

"How about I walk you back then?" I could use to walk to tire me out. She smiles, and nods. I stand up, and help her up from the bed. I don't let go of her hand the entire walk back—I mostly ramble on, with stories, to try and keep her awake until we reach the school.

I kiss her one last time, before she slips in through the doorway.

I don't feel wide awake when I get back to my apartment. I don't feel isolated by shame—I don't feel empty, or broken. I almost feel invincible. That night, I fall asleep with a smile on my face and the scent of her clouding my head.


	7. Want

CHAPTER 7 – WANT

Shauna and I head out for a run the next morning. We run down to the pier, stopping only to catch our breaths. My lungs burn, and my legs ache, but there is no better feeling in the morning. It's not like waking up, or stretching your muscles out—though both feel pretty damn good.

It just feels like you can do _anything_.

"Getting tired, yet?" Shauna asks, breathless. There are fly aways that frame her face and stick to the glistening skin of her forehead. She looks exhausted, but wide awake.

My shirt is drenched, so wiping the sweat off my face with it would do no good. I keep running, and shake my head at her, "No. I could go for another mile."

I don't believe I could, but it's nice to think I'm inexhaustible. That there are no limits to physicality.

When we get back to the pit, my lungs are on fire, my ribs are sore, and the tension is tight in my abdomen. Shauna and I part in the hallway; I head into the bathroom and start the water.

The spray is cold, but I step in any way to relieve my body of the heat. The water warms up after a few minutes, and I just stand underneath it, enjoying the pounding of it on my muscles. They relax with each passing moment.

I don't want to get out, but I know eventually I will have to, so I turn the water off and wrap a towel around my waist. I get dressed; a black sweatshirt, and jeans. I get my shoes back on and I head down into the pit—Eric is ordering his lackeys around.

He spots me, like he has something to say to me; I don't want to deal with him. "Anything on the footage, yet?"

"If I found anything new, don't you think I'd have reported it already?" I ask, irritably. I shove past him, determined to get down to the training room to join Zeke and Shauna.

XxXxX

Zeke tells us about one of the dates he went on last night; apparently, it ended in a disaster—to which, I laugh a little too hard at, since he's usually the one who gets what he wants out of the date.

The door at the other end of the room is thrown open, Shauna flinches but otherwise doesn't seem fazed by it. Uriah scowls at us, "damn, that was a bust." He looks like a sulking child. Tris stands behind him, patting his arm.

"What are you guys doing here?" Shauna asks. Tris visibly tenses the moment Uriah looks up, grinning.

"She wanted to see Four," He smirks. I look over at Tris, who throws a rough punch at his arm; Uriah gives her a look and cowers away, clutching his shoulder. Tris is bright red, Shauna and Zeke laugh quietly, but I just smile. She wants to see me.

I come up beside her, pulling her into my side. "You don't have to be embarrassed," I say quietly; I press my lips to the top of her head and breathe her in—she smells sweet, like apple. I could get intoxicated by her.

"I know," she smiles, "I _knew_ that was coming... I just can't help it." She says it loud enough for Uriah to hear, who grins at her again.

I'm arrogant, "so you really wanted to see me?"

Tris smirks, and says, "I came to punch some bags." I fake a hurt look and she laughs, trying to shove me away from her. I just hold her closer, and grin when her face gets even brighter and she tries to cover it up.

I look up to see Zeke and Uriah over by the mats, shoving each other on the way there; Shauna follows them, and counts down from three. Tris shifts in the corner of my eye, and I look down at her, meeting her eyes.

She bites her lip, "can we go somewhere?" She looks so innocent asking; I nod and wave to the others, though Shauna is the only one paying attention. I keep Tris close to me, she's warm.

"I really did come to see you," she says; I suppress my smirk, because I know she was kidding before.

"I'm glad you did," I reach behind her, fitting my hand against the space between her shoulder blades. Her shirt is thin, it allows me to feel the ridges along her spine and the warmth of her skin. She shivers underneath my touch.

I don't take her back to my apartment, or the main area; I know of a place. I lead her down a removed corridor—it's much colder down this way. I should have mentioned it before. "Where are we going?" She asks.

I don't want to tell her exactly where, just yet, "It's a place I like to go sometimes; Zeke found it."

"Just how many hiding places do you have?" I can practically hear the smile in her voice. I just shrug.

"Tons," I answer, "you may never get to see them all." Which may be untrue—but my stubborn streak still prefers to keep some things secret.

"What if you're ever missing?" I smirk—how odd to think I'll be the one who gets lost in this place. But I see her point, nonetheless. "Wouldn't you want someone to know these places? Maybe find you?"

"But see that's the beauty about good hiding places. Nobody ever finds them." I want to kick myself for still being so reserved around her; so vague. I have a problem with specificity, it's probably one of my greatest flaws, albeit worst habits. Everything I say to her might as well be negligible.

Tris doesn't press anymore questions, but I sense a slight uneasiness now.

I focus on where we're going instead; I can hear the chasm just up ahead. The hallway is more narrow down this part, all of the light is back at the other end, making it harder to see where to step. But I know this place like the back of my hand.

Tris pulls to a halt for a moment, tugging me back with her, "don't tell me there's a waterfall here, too." I laugh—she's almost figured it out.

"Something like that." It's almost too dark to see much of anything now, I brush my hand along the wall, and stop just as my hand meets air. It's a wide enough gap for me to get through, I pull Tris through behind me.

I smile—it's not so hard to find anymore, "welcome to the chasm." I say, spreading my arms wide at my sides. The water splashes over itself in waves, crashing against the stone at the very end. It's loud, I almost can't hear myself.

I take Tris's hand and we walk further down the rocks. We go until I find the metal railing, and I switch the lamp on that Zeke brought down here a while back. The chasm rocks illuminate, wet from the spray; the expression on her face is awe, "This is amazing!"

It is.

We sit down on the flatter platform, with the spray on our ankles. Normally, having my jeans soaked at the bottom is irritating and uncomfortable, however, from down here I could care less.

I rest my head on the cold metal, my skin cools with its contact; I watch her. Her hands rest in her lap, with her fingers curled together. Her hair blocks my view of most of her face and I am tempted to brush it out of the way but then she looks up at me.

"How did he find this place?" She asks, shouting over the water.

"A fortunate moment of serendipity," I say simply; I realize that's another vague statement. "every year, when the weather gets nicer, everyone around here participates in this huge paintball war. It happens in the compound, outside the compound... anyway, it was the year Zeke was made one of the captains. Shauna and I were on his team, so we were trying to find Eric's team. Eric ended up finding _us_, but the people on his team couldn't aim if their lives depended on it—," I smirk. I remember that day—Zeke, Shauna, and I had lost but we didn't really care. Though Zeke did mope around for a few days afterwards. "—we ended up losing them down the hallway, back there," I point to where we came from, and continue, "but we didn't think just waiting for something to happen, to get caught, would be smart. So Zeke basically scaled the wall and found the opening. You can see the chasm from different places, but this is the only real, less harmful way, of getting close to the bottom."

"It's nice down here," Tris leans forward on the heels of her hands, and peers over the edge down at the water. "And just a little cold," she says, shivering. I laugh.

"Yeah, sometimes it can get pretty bad. Especially in the winter."

"I take it you still come down here?" She smiles. This is easy, being with her.

"Sometimes," I nod, and grin as I say, "Zeke'll usually bring something to drink. You warm right up." Tris laughs—I think back to that night in the net, when she tried the beer that I had. I remember how she didn't like the taste. When I look at her again, she's frowning.

"What's wrong?" I ask, suddenly nervous. I don't think I did, or said anything to get that reaction from her; Tris shakes her head. I'm about to ask her again, but she sighs.

"I overthink things, sometimes," I almost don't hear her over the water, but I catch the gist of it and nod once. I sit up straighter, leaning my shoulder against the railing this time.

"What are you overthinking?"

She's reluctant to respond, but when she does she sounds sad, "I'm younger than you..." I frown—I don't know what she's implying. Tris shakes her head, and quickly adds, "I don't still think...that. I guess I just don't understand what makes me different."

_Everything_, I think to myself. I say it like it's obvious, but apparently not.

"Is it really that hard to believe somebody likes you?" I ask, "regardless of age... et cetera."

"You'd be the first," She replies. I shake my head—when I first met her, she was trying to escape a night of awkward conversation—if I remember those being her exact words.

"That's not exactly true." She gives me an incredulous look and I say, "your guy friend?" Another sigh.

"Okay, fine. You'd be the second person to," I move closer to her, so close that my leg presses right up against hers. I hold her hand in mine, and stare down at her for a moment, thinking. She's opened up to me already, however, I know she hasn't given me the entire truth. Bits and pieces, at most—I don't necessarily need more, but more would be nice.

"Is it really just the two year difference that bothers you?"

She avoids my eyes, and says, "well I'm not extraordinary, or anything." I almost ask her how she can say that—how she can think that about herself. But it would be hypocritical of me; I'm an outside point of view, looking in. Just like she is to me. I've practically dragged myself around for nineteen years, never feeling good enough. I've never truly felt like anyone cared, because that's how I was brought up; to care about yourself, and only yourself. However, it seems I've been pretty careless... I don't always see myself clearly either. Yet, I understand her. "I'm not pretty—not ugly, but I'm not pretty."

Pretty is such a meaningless word at the moment; I don't particularly care for it, either. And to call her 'pretty' would be an understatement.

"And?" I shrug, "I like how you look," I press my forehead to hers, "a lot." Her skin flushes, and is replaced by an enticing blush. "You're deadly smart," I tack on.

I want to tell her everything I've thought about her—how she _looks_, how she_ feels_, how she makes _me_ feel... but I would never find the right words. I would never be able to express them as clearly as I need to.

Tris looks down at her hands, our hands; she still looks upset. I don't know how, or if I could ever make her see herself clearly—I can't do it for myself, but for her I can try. "Look at me," I say quietly; when she does, I continue, "I like you, okay? Believe that, for me." I smile when she nods.

"Thank you," she whispers. I lift her chin up, pressing a gentle, slow kiss to her lips.

Her lips are amazing, and warmth courses through me as her fingers clutch the bottom of my shirt, pulling me closer.

XxXxX

Tris and I join the others in the pit later on. Most of the time I avoid it because it's so busy, despite how much I've grown to love this place—sometimes it's just too much.

Tris stays tucked under my arm for most of the night; not once does she tense up. She occasionally takes sips from the flask Zeke gave me—at least this drink tastes better—but doesn't drink as often as I do.

I'm not inebriated, not yet anyways. I think if I drink anymore, I'll probably be on my way there, so for the better part of an hour I nurse the rest of it. Still, thinking of her keeps me sober.

I have never truly understood the appeal of public displays of affection; not as severely as Zeke asserts himself, at least. I have no problem holding Tris's hands, or kissing her cheek, forehead, or nose. Tentative, I will probably always be—I don't expect her to be as openly affection either.

There is so much activity going on, that I ask Tris if she wants to head back to my apartment for some quiet. When we get inside, I notice how parched I am—the alcohol was pretty dry. I go into the kitchen for water.

I turn around to see Tris watching me, curiously. I can't help but smirk; I set the glass down and ask, "what?"

Tris laughs, "Nothing. I just got distracted."

"By me drinking water?" I tease. Instead of looking away from me, like I expect her to, she grins.

"You're quite talented." I would be stunned, but instead I burst out laughing. I have to grab the counter to keep my balance; _who knew of my talent_. My stomach aches by the time the humor has died down. She yawns, trying to stifle it from my view.

"You can stay here tonight, Tris. If you're tired. I swear, I don't mind." My selfish side also just wants her scent to linger in my apartment longer, and wake up to her in the morning. But I don't say that to her. She doesn't answer, she crosses the room to sit on my bed, as though she's contemplating it. She sits on the very edge—it's like déjà vu—it reminds me of my mother, and how she acted around my father.

I push the fear from my mind and step around the counter to crouch in front of her. _I am not like my father_, I chant. _She's not afraid of me—she said so_. I try to calm myself down.

I soften my voice, and ask, "what's wrong?"

Her fingers play with the sheet, and her lip is wedged between her teeth. Tris sighs, "I just... I'm not used to this." Sometimes, I think she forgets this is new for me too. But I can be patient with her if that's what it takes.

I don't think about it, I touch her leg just above her knee and squeeze lightly; a careless move, but she doesn't swat my hand away, or squirm under my touch. She stays perfectly still—rigid, tense. I need to make her understand.

"We're not going anything you don't want to do," I say, sitting down next to her. Her shoulders sag, despite her body being on high alert. Carefully, I set my hand down on top of hers between us. I wrack my brain for something to say, to tell her to trust me; I don't want to be accusing, though.

Her voice is quiet, strained as she says, "...it's not that I don't want to. Not yet, anyways." My heart throbs in my ears, loudly, as her words register with me. Tension swells in my body. I try to look unaffected by what she just said, and nod. "I just don't understand a lot about this," she motions between us, "I guess."

"I don't either," I say, "do you remember the stories I told you, where Zeke always dragged me on double dates, and every time it always ended with them making out and me somehow offending the girl I was with." Tris laughs, nodding.

"Well you aren't exactly the nicest," she replies.

"Somehow you're still here," I kiss her, briefly. I see the tension seep out of her, and she meets my eyes, grinning.

"How early on did you offend those girls, Tobias?" She's taunting me; I chuckle.

"Too early on." I answer; though none of those girls—as much as I hate to sound like a jerk—ever mattered to me. Not like she does. There was respect with each girl, I owed them that much. But with Tris, I feel like I owe her more, she deserves more.

She breaks the silence, with a weary exhale and says quietly, "sex is new to me..."

I'm probably the oldest virgin she's ever met—it's almost comical to me, "I've never ever gotten close," I reply. Though it's not completely truthful; one girl nearly groped me underneath the table. To this day, I still believe that was Zeke's way of saying I need to get laid. Though I'm not about to tell her that story, "so it's all new for me too. But I can promise you I'm not gonna intentionally hurt you, or touch you without it being okay with you first. Okay?" We need a common ground on this subject. Tris nods, breathing easier.

"Okay."

A moment of bravery washes over me, and I say, "Come here." I pull one of her legs over me, so she sits on top of me. My arms find their place around her waist, and hers snake around my neck; I tilt my head up, meeting her lips. I pull her as close to me as I can, feeling the warmth of her body through our shirts, and the curve of her chest against the flat of mine. Her heart beats in tune with mine, and it's like we're one.

Air is a pain in the ass. I pull back, and trail my lips down her throat, stopping just below her collarbone. Her skin tastes salty, like a night run. "If I can kiss you like this for the time being, I will be content." She hums as I press a kiss to her jaw. I don't think she knows she made that sound, but it twists my stomach in a yearning jolt.

My fingers ease their way up her spine, to the soft skin on the back of her neck, and into her hair. I tug a thick strand, playfully. Her breaths are shallow and warm, and frequent against my cheek sending a shiver down my skin. She laughs, nodding, before kissing me, firmly.

For a while, we sit like that without pulling away. I have never wanted to kiss a girl this way, so confidently—freely. I've never felt passion, or affection so strongly for any other women I've come across. None of ever appealed to me so deeply.

The sighs that she breathes make me want her this way forever; they make me want her more than I already do. In dangerous ways, ways that I'm not sure I'm even ready for. Let alone, her.

I realize something then; I trust her with every part of my being. And that I want her, in as many ways as possible. And I should start, by telling her about me. But I know it can wait a little longer, because right now this is all I need—all I want.

I pull back temporarily, just enough that my lips still touch hers. I can only manage a whisper, but that's all I need, "Tris Prior. You might think I'm saying this too early, but I have to tell you that I am absolutely crazy about you."


	8. Decoding Eric

**A/N: Sorry this update took so long! I had a bad case of writer's block for Tobias's point of view! (Which I think should have been near to impossible since I feel Tobias and I closely relate, mentally). Anyways, I wanted to get this up tonight. I will try and update again tonight/early tomorrow but I have to be up at 6 and in to Boston by 8 so I have a very busy day ahead of me. I cannot promise any new updates until Sunday? or late Saturday night. Thank you for your patience and lovely reviews!**

CHAPTER 8 – DECODING ERIC

Tris sleeps in my bed, and I take the floor.

She lays on top of the quilt, on her side with her hands tucked under her head. Her lips are parted, her breaths even. She sleeps curled up, in a ball; she looks smaller than she already is.

I watch her, because I can't fall asleep.

I think, for a moment, that she's awake, that I'm caught, because she shifts and her fingers curl around my blanket. But then she's still again and she sighs. I'm careless—I reach across the mattress to touch her face. I don't think I'd care if she caught me now.

She doesn't move again, other than the rise and fall of her chest.

And so we stay like that for a while, until the floor digs into my lower back and I pull my hand away. The blanket I've spread out on the floor is wrinkled, but smooths down when I spread out. I lay on my stomach, because it's more comfortable that way on the floor, and slowly fall asleep.

The sun is just beginning to rise when I wake up again. I feel groggy and tired, but the moment I hear Zeke banging on the door I'm up and running. "Are you insane?" I whisper harshly. "Why do you have to do that?"

"To wake you up," Zeke answers with a shrug, "you are no longer a morning person."

"Tris is asleep," I say, glancing behind me to make sure she didn't wake up from that. She didn't, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She looks too comfortable—she's also in my bed. Zeke peers around me, and smirks.

"Long night?"

I don't answer him. I get dressed quickly, and throw my sneakers on. I look back at her one more time, to make sure I haven't woken her up and then head out with Zeke.

XxXxX

I leave Zeke and Shauna in the training room and head back to my apartment.

When I get the door open, I realize she's awake because the bed is empty; I peer around the door, into the kitchen, to see if she's there but then Tris steps out from the bathroom. She looks tired, with the pillow creases in her cheek and her hair disheveled. She must have just woken up. Still beautiful. I smile, "you're awake. How did you sleep?"

"Well," she answers, "How did _you_ sleep?" I wrap my arms around her, in a tight hug. I remember I'm still sweaty from running, but she doesn't pull away—if anything, she actually pulls me closer.

"You know, the floor is not as uncomfortable as you may think," I tell her, "I slept fine."

"How long did I sleep?" I look up at the clock; it wasn't that late when she fell asleep.

I shrug, "ten hours. I wasn't gonna wake you; you looked too comfortable." I kiss the top of her head; she still smells sweet—I smirk to myself as I remember it was my pillow she slept on last night.

"What, did you watch me?" Tris asks.

"You know, you're quite a heavy sleeper," I tease. She gives me such a hard look that I laugh, "I'm joking, Tris." Sort of. I did watch her.

"I know," I hear the smile in her voice and I squeeze her just a little tighter. I like this whole waking up to her here. Though I went for a run. Her hair is tangled, mostly at the bottom; her fly aways tickle the hollow of my jaw and I pull back, trying to flatten her hair down. Tris sighs, "It's a lost cause."

"It looks fine," I grin, "I don't own a hairbrush; my hair is too short." She laughs, reaching up to ruffle it. Her fingers are kind, and I lean into her touch.

XxXxX

I join Zeke in the control room again, monitoring screens for most of the day; still nothing new on the missing footage—though Eric has made it a point to annoy the hell out of me each day until something comes up.

"Ready to head down?" Zeke asks, logging out of the footage. I nod, and log out, and then we leave the control room. Zeke makes is blatantly obvious that the door is locked, by trying to break in himself—basically, banging on the door and trying to pull the knob off.

The pit is full of people, loud and rowdy. We stay up on the mezzanine; Zeke makes a rude gesture at the back of Eric's head and I laugh so hard, my fingers tighten on the railing for balance.

I know Tris is here somewhere, I saw her on the cameras. I don't hear what Zeke says, but he points. I can feel her eyes on me then, and mine instantly find hers across the room on the lower level. She smiles up at me, and I wave.

Zeke snorts, throwing a punch at my arm, "you're whipped."

"At least I've been able to keep her," I retort—much to Zeke's amusement; he bursts out laughing, and nods. We start down the stairs, and when we cross the room I gather Tris into my arms and press her tight against my body. She's warm.

She kisses me, briefly; I'm startled, and disappointed that we're not alone right now.

"Miss me?" I ask.

Tris grins, "a little bit." I hold her close to my side, and we listen as Eric goes over the rules for the fight. I notice the others, like Tris, wear the same anticipating looks—apparently this is one fight they've been waiting for.

Uriah's arm is around Marlene, she leans into him comfortably; like how Tris and I are. Lynn is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, cracking her knuckles like she's the one about to fight. Zeke and Shauna talk amongst themselves, not as engrossed in the fight.

I could really care less about one of Eric's fights, myself—I watch Tris instead. The corners of her mouth twitch each time the boy—Edward—gets a rough hit in, and she scowls every time the other boy gets one.

And then she turns to me, "what?"

The people around us erupt into booming roars; I have to lean closer so she'll hear me, and say, "I don't think I've ever seen you this engrossed in one of the fights. You look almost lethal."

Tris smirks, "that's because Peter's losing." I don't expect her answer to be so cruel. Does this mean she has the same sick, triumphant streak that I do at times? "I'll explain it later," she says. When my bewilderment wears off, I nod and she turns back to the fight.

Peter goes down, and blood drips onto the mat beneath him. Edward only has a split lip, and some bruised, cut open knuckles. Me, and one of Eric's cronies, goes to pick Peter up and we carry him to the makeshift infirmary; Tori's idea, since too many idiots try to play up their bravado and end up getting their teeth knocked out instead.

Sometimes, I wonder how different things would be if we hadn't made Tori one of the leaders; Eric and I would be at each other's throats, more so than now. I don't intend on staying in this room until Peter wakes up, so once we deposit him onto a cot I head back out of the room to the main area.

I see Tris, standing alone with an unreadable expression—I wonder what she's thinking about. I'm close enough now, that I grab her at the soft bend in her arm and pull her away from the group for a moment.

Eric wastes no time, starting the next fight. It disappears behind the crowd as Tris and I go to a quiet area, by the stairs that lead up to the mezzanine, "what was that all about?" I ask.

"Peter is..." she hesitates, searching for the right words to say; I watch her, and wait. She sighs, "Peter is to me, what Eric is to you." And suddenly, it all makes perfect sense—this Peter is a sadistic asshole.

"You haven't even been here half a year, and you already have an enemy." A part of me is joking with her, while the other half is serious. The first time I met Eric, we became enemies; I don't have much room to talk here. Tris pouts, "you wanted to see Peter hurt?" Slowly, she nods.

"Sort of..._ yes_." She answers, looking up at me. "The first time I met him he shut my arm in a freezer door." Sounds like he preys on the weak—exactly like Eric. Maybe they're cousins.

"Why did he do that?" It sounds like a demand, and I try to stifle the tough act for a moment; she doesn't need me going after Peter—though I only have one example to work with.

"Because I was new," Tris mumbles. What a stupid reason, I think. Peter is definitely an asshole.

"I can't imagine he has many friends with that type of greeting," I say; she nods again, scratching the back of her neck.

"He has followers." She says, "but I don't want to talk about Peter anymore." I don't either. I smile, and drape my around her waist.

"Okay." We go back to the group, and watch the rest of the fights.

XxXxX

The next morning, and afternoon, go by much too quickly—I don't even realize I've barely eaten anything until it's past three in the afternoon and my stomach begins to protest at the lack of food.

"Did you forget what food is?" Shauna asks, plopping into the chair across from us at the controls. Technically, she's not allowed to be up here; though, what Eric doesn't know won't hurt _us_. She breaks off the top of her muffin and hands it to me.

I eat it within a minute.

"I've been too busy today," I answer quickly, turning back to the screen. I don't see it, but it only seems natural that she look to Zeke for answers on my behavior.

"He's been watching Eric...he thinks Eric has something he's plan—,"

"—Eric looked too smug this morning," I say. And I still haven't been able to decipher what he's up to. That bothers me, because I don't know when or where or what he has in store.

"More so than usual?" Shauna asks, bored. I nod. "That doesn't mean much, you know."

"When it's directed towards me: I'm not going to be bombarded with whatever stunt he's concocting. That's the last thing I feel like dealing with," I watch the screens, keeping a closer eye on where Eric goes and who he talks to.

I practically stormed into the controls this morning, waking Zeke up at the keyboard, after Eric confronted me. He had asked about Tris; not that I gave him any answers. And he tried to subtly slip in some personal information that he only knows because he overheard Tori and me once, after I visited my father.

"I mean, I know it's Eric, but you don't think he's just gonna try and get you to fight again?"

"He's an idiot if he does," I hiss, "I shouldn't have to keep telling him I'm not gonna fight him."

"Well," Shauna stands up, heading towards the door, "I need to get going—Lynn and I are meeting up with Lauren soon. See you." Zeke mutters a goodbye, and I merely wave.

"Four," Zeke pulls the panel away from me, despite my hard glare at him, and says, "go take a walk; all this 'decoding Eric' is gonna drive you mad." I want to disagree with him, but he gives me an insistent look and I sigh, nodding.

He takes over for me, and I head out with my hood up, to block the cold air from my neck, and my hands buried deep in my pockets. It's colder now that October's over. I forego the pier, because it's too windy down by the water this late in the year, and stroll through the streets.

I wind up walking to the school; classes are over for the day, and I wonder if Tris is around—in the courtyard, or back at her dorm. I don't see her anywhere, but I know she's not at the pit. It's too early for most to be there, and she would have most likely gone to my apartment, or the training room with the others.

I wait a few more minutes, to see if she will appear; she doesn't, but a man—I don't recognize him as a teacher, maybe a parent?—walks with a boy, who looks to be about her age. I see some of Tris's features in the man's, and even the boy's, faces; I wonder if they're her family.

Still, Tris never comes into view, so I start to head back. I've only been away from the control room for about an hour; Zeke will probably try and talk me into leaving again, but I need to find out what made Eric so smug—it's bothers me.

The feeling in my gut says it's worse than I'm anticipating.


	9. Paralyzed

CHAPTER 9 – PARALYZED

I can't remember the last time I ever slept in late, but when I open my eyes the sunlight streams in through my window and my clock reads just after ten-thirty.

I should feel wide awake, given I've had over twelve hours of sleep, but I feel half alive and disoriented.

Waking up alone is no longer a favorite of mine. I picked this apartment, away from the rest, so that I could be alone. However, I find myself craving Tris's company. And her small, warm body beside mine. She's warmer than any blanket I've ever found comfort in. I've never wanted to share my space with another human being before.

Zeke and I spend another long day in the control room—I am still stuck on the problem with Eric, while Zeke tries to annoy me by changing the screens. It takes all my self-control not to lash out at him; just when I get a visual on Eric, he changes it. And I know he's doing it on purpose.

Eric talks with the boy—Edward—who won the last fight. I need to know what he's up to. But I'm left empty handed again when I glance up at the clock, and see that it's later than I expect it to be. I remember that Tris is waiting for me, and that if I want to see her before she has to go I should leave now.

Zeke looks half-alive, sitting in the blue glow from the screen, with his head slumped against his hand. "Shouldn't you get some sleep?" I ask him.

"I think Uri's waiting for me in the pit," Zeke mumbles, standing up, "see you." I leave the controls and head down the hall, up the stairs, and for my apartment. I search for my keys, and remember that I gave them to Tris to wait for me.

When I get the door open, the lights are off but I sense her presence; I see her across the room.

Tris sits on my bed, staring out the window. As she turns her head toward me, the city lights make the side of her face, and her blonde hair, glow. I kick my shoes off by the door. I drop down beside her on the bed, hearing the springs screech in protest. I smile at her, and watch her through heavy eyelids. "Sorry it took me so long, I got held up," I yawn, turning my face into the pillow.

I can hear the smile in her voice, "it's alright." I lift my head up, so my face is aligned with hers, and kiss her, briefly.

"I can take the fl—," but before I can finish, her hand covers my mouth.

"—stay. Sleep." She says it like it's an order, but there is no domination in her voice. A grin tugs at my lips; usually, it's just her in my bed when she's stayed over, though I'm not complaining about this. I pull the blanket up over her, and then I stretch out on my stomach, sighing as my muscles relax into the mattress. She turns her body towards me, and she is the last thing I see before I fall asleep.

XxXxX

It's not the sun that wakes me the next morning, but Tris, poking my arm. The sun reflects off her hair, making it brighter—too bright for just waking up. I drag my palm down my face, and ask, "What time is it?" I look behind me, at the clock and see that it's almost nine. I turn back to Tris, "you do know it's Monday, right?"

She sighs, "I know," she replies, without conviction. I laugh; well, at least she's not eager to leave.

"You have to go, Tris," I say. She nods, but otherwise doesn't move from the bed. I watch her, as she watches me in the silence that follows. Her fingers twist in the fringe at the end of the quilt—whether it's an absentminded habit, or she's doing it because she's nervous, I don't know—I pick her hand up, just to hold it.

She frowns, "I'm still in the same clothes from yesterday. I wouldn't be able to get back to my dorm to change."

I just shrug, "I can give you a new shirt." I'd like to see how she looks in one of mine; I'll probably end up letting her keep it. After a few seconds, she nods, so I kick my legs free of the blanket and head over to the dresser.

I grab one of my sweaters—a black one, that won't be too big for her—and start back over to the bed. She drops her gaze to the blanket, blushing because I caught her staring. She likes to do that, I've noticed, particularly when I am doing ordinary things. She takes the sweater from my hand, and I head into the bathroom to give her some privacy. I turn the tap on, grabbing my toothbrush.

I catch her, in the space through the door and the jamb, watching me in the mirror and when she looks away I laugh. I can't help but watch _her_. She pulls her shirt up over her head, catching me off guard and I nearly hit the back of my throat with my toothbrush. My groin in tight then, and I am paralyzed at the counter, gripping it with white knuckles for support.

Her ribcage juts out as her arms lift above her head, arching her back. She's thin, I can just see the ridges of her ribs, but her body still looks soft. I can't look away from her; her bra is black, tight against her chest and my mouth goes dry as my eyes skim up her side. Then her back is to me, and she puts my sweater on over her body. _I'm jealous of a sweater_. God, does she even know what she does to me?

She pulls her hair out from the neckline, and it cascades down her back in a fall of gold. For a brief moment, Tris shrinks into the fabric, before she begins to roll the sleeves up. I finish brushing my teeth, and then splash cold water on my face before I head back out into the room.

When she turns to face me, I smirk. The sweater is almost twice her size, but somehow she makes it look better, "I like how you look in my shirt," I tell her, grabbing her by the hips. She smiles, shaking her head at me, and then her fingers slip between mine.

"Even though I'm practically swimming in it?" She jokes.

"It looks good on you," I say, leaning down to kiss her. My hands find their way into her hair, tilting her head back so I can see her face better. I kiss her cheek, "I think you've ruined me, Tris. I don't think I'll ever want to sleep alone again." I already know I don't want to. Tris laughs against my neck, her fingers tighten on my shirt.

"You haven't heard me talk in my sleep yet," She mutters. I feel a wicked grin creep across my face.

"Do you, really?" I ask; I didn't hear her last night, but then again I was asleep probably long before she was. Tris shrugs.

"Sometimes. Not that I make much sense."

"Hmm, I'll have to stay awake and listen," I tease, laughing when she pretends to glare at me. We leave the apartment together, and I walk her back to the school.

XxXxX

Shauna and I patrol the pit later on that night. She decides to take the mezzanine, so I am stuck on the bottom floor—not that I mind it so much, because I know Tris and the others will be here eventually—but that also means I am in Eric's warpath.

There's not much to keep an eye on, besides making sure nobody lurks around the back; I stay with Zeke by the chasm, keeping watch around me. My legs are too tired to walk around, so I lean against the railing.

I haven't been paying much attention to what they've been talking about—I pretend I know what they're saying, and laugh when they do, but I'm focused on searching for Tris. I don't even know if she and the others will be here tonight, but given this is their most common hangout I'd say they'll be here eventually.

"—she was loud—," I hear Zeke say, and instantly tune out; another one of his dates, where he got what he was going for. I shake my head; these guys stopped bugging me a long time ago about girls, and stuff like that—I couldn't be more thankful. They were all stupid enough to think they would actually get anything out of me, not that I had any details anyway.

The bottle in my hands is only missing a sip—I don't really want to drink tonight. It's also not even that late and most of the people around me are inebriated, I prefer a clear head most nights. I set it down on the ground by my foot just to get it out of my hands.

"Hey, _Four_," knuckles hit my shoulder, rather hard, though the tone of voice makes it seem like it was intended to look casual. To anyone sober, they would see right through it. I turn to see Eric, smirking at me.

"Eric," I say, trying to unlock my tight jaw.

"How's the stiff doing?" His curiosity about Tris spikes up my need to protect her; he's curious, which, as far as I'm concerned, is not a good sign. I need to keep these doors closed before they open, I need to deflect his attention.

"Why do you care?"

"Well, she is young... naïve... willing to do anything for an older guy," I feel my eyes narrow at him. This line of thought only means one thing; I resist the urge to lash out and smack him. My nails dig into the palms of my hands, stinging the further they sink in. I decide to try and play dumb; as if daring him to continue.

"What are you insinuating?" My mistake—and his—because he does.

"Wait—," he grins, "don't tell me... you're not doing her." He says it like an accusation; I bite my cheek, and in the next moment I am tasting blood. His voice becomes quiet next, and quiet with Eric is dangerous, "Well, at least she won't end up like your mother."

I don't even register my arm swinging forward, until I hear the crack of Eric's nose and see his blood dripping down my wrist, into my sleeve. Before I can even stop myself, blinded by anger, I am lunging for him. The back of his head collides with the metal railing, the connection sounding hollow. He lets out a pained scream, and tries to grab at my throat. He gets a hit in, at my mouth but I barely feel my teeth hit my lip.

My knee comes up, hitting him in the jaw next. Eric's hands fly up to his mouth, and part of me is hopeful that I've just broken the bone. Everything around me is a blur, smudged by the red clouding my vision. I hear shouts, and yells to stop. People scramble away from us, while others get a closer look. I throw another punch at his face, and metal pierces my knuckles.

I feel hands gripping at my jacket, my arms, while others try to help Eric up. I am being pulled away from him, though I try to break free. Eric spits at the railing, with blood pouring down his chin and neck, dripping onto his shirt. The sight is almost pleasing—and then I feel nauseas; _was this how my father felt, after beating me?_ I turn away from Zeke, who's holding me back, and dry heave over the chasm.

I can't breathe. My entire body feels like it's on fire, every joint aches like poison has filled the crevices. Eric coughs up blood, spitting more out, "Asshole! Just like your father!" He shouts at me. _Just like my father—he's not wrong_. I am thankful that most of these people will not remember him shouting that at me tomorrow morning.

"Fucking coward," I hiss, willing the sickness to go away. Zeke drags me away from all of the noise, and when we get far enough away the ringing in my ears disappears. Footsteps run down the hall.

"What happened?" Uriah asks in a hushed voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zeke shake his head. The light above me is the only one lit in this hallway—it flickers, so I try to focus on the dying, blue glow.

"I don't even know," Zeke replies, "he was fine... standing beside me one minute... I didn't even see Eric... at first. But then he said... doing her... and then..."

_Was this how my father felt? Was beating me an accomplishment for him? _I think to myself. I knew it was only a matter of time before he pulled some stunt. In front of all these people, he brings up my father. _Just like my father_. The thought sinks like lead in my stomach, and the nauseas feeling returns. I try to hold back my gagging, and rest my head against the cool stone behind me.

Marlene walks over to me, handing me a rag. I take it from her, without a word and press it to my wounds. My knuckle stings, like a stab of something sharp, and I pull it close to my face to examine it. One of Eric's piercings juts out of the dip between my knuckles, the silver metal glistens beneath the light.

My fingers shake from adrenaline as I try to pull it out, so Marlene tries to pry it out, carefully. Blood beads from the puncture, and I place the rag over it again. She takes the piercing with her and stands up, returning to Uriah's side.

"—this is Eric's piercing," Marlene says; she hands it to Uriah. I see a smirk on his face a moment later, and I swallow bile. There is no enjoyment from what just happened; I am not a monster.

The ringing in my ears is gone, but it sounds like I am walking through a tunnel. I zone the others out when they start discussing Eric, I don't want to know how he is. I don't care what is condition is, though I can imagine it's not the greatest. The rag chafes at my wounds, like salt, making them burn; I try to wipe most of the blood away, but it stains my skin like the reminder it is of my monstrous act. Will's voice catches my attention.

"—Should we... —Tris?" _What about Tris?_ I see Marlene nod, and Will starts down the hall. I suddenly wonder how horrible my timing was: was Tris here when it happened? Did she see any of it? If she did, I don't want to think of how I've just scared her away. It feels like all air has been cut off from my lungs—what does she think of me now?

I'm not sure how long I sit there for, glaring at my bloody hands, but eventually I hear more footsteps amongst the others, talking quietly a few feet away. I try to suck in a few breathes, letting the cold from the stone seep in through the back of my shirt.

I force myself to focus on something else, and I think about this morning; waking up to Tris beside me, and watching her change into my sweater. I don't want to lose that.

I hear Zeke mention her name, and I look up, meeting a pair of bright eyes. She's here—so she must not have seen what happened. I frown; it would have been a little easier to explain, if she had but I'll think of a way. She kneels beside me, "—Tris," I start.

"—What happened?" She doesn't sound angry. Why?

"Eric said some things about you," Uriah says, carefully. I glance over at him; his head hangs, like he is the one who has just injured somebody, and his hands are buried deep in his pockets. "to him, and—,"

"—and I lost control," I finish. I pull the rag away, which has stuck to some dried blood that pulls at my cuts, and I wince.

Tris's volume drops, and she asks, "what did he say?" Zeke starts down the hall with the others, leaving just Tris and me in the hallway, huddled side by side. I can't look at my hands anymore, so I focus on her face.

"He suggested to everybody listening... that I was doing you. Because you're young, and you're new." I sigh, swallowing my anger so I don't accidentally lash out at her for no reason, "and he also asked some other things."

"What other things?"

I shake my head, "I don't want to tell you them here. They _were_ only things that he knew, because he had found them out somehow. He used them against me, publicly, this time." It's not the first time he's hinted at them, however, it is the first time he's ever dared to use them to humiliate me in front of a group. Tris releases a shaky breath; I'm scaring her.

"Can we go back to your apartment then?" She asks. This is not how I wanted her to find out about me. But I nod, and we stand up. I don't want to run into Eric, because despite how badly I've scared myself, part of me knows that if I see him I will not hesitate to try and kill him. We get into my apartment, and Tris turns the light on. I want to shrink back, so she can't see the thing I have become.

It startles me when she reaches up to brush her thumb along my lip. There's a split, and it stings the moment her skin comes in contact with it. I had forgotten Eric hit me. "What things did Eric say?"

I toss the rag, soaked with blood, into the sink and I sigh, looking south of her eyes, "This wasn't how I wanted to tell you." God, how it wasn't.

Tris sounds tired, maybe a little irritated, "Tell me what?"

"Why I'm vague. Why nobody knows anything about me besides the alias, Four." I sit down in the chair in front of us, and look up, trying to meet her eyes this time, "I don't let people know about my father, or my family in general. I don't tell them about me, because they would all look at me like I'm damaged." She's quiet, which only adds to my desperation. Tris sits in the other chair, almost eye level with me and curls her knees up to her chest.

"My mother passed away when I was only nine. My father said she died while in labor with my sibling; who also died the same day." My fingers hold the edge of my chair, as if to give myself stability. "My father used to beat her. I remember watching her back hit the walls of our living room, almost every other night, with so much force. I was always amazed he had never broken any of her ribs... somehow my mother always took it. She was afraid, she always was. She never showed him any weakness though―I think that's what angered him more. The thought that he couldn't control her, maybe.

"My mother was skittish, she always sat on the edge of chairs, and always looked around. She made sure she had ways of escaping." My breath shakes on the way out, and I feel the threatening pin pricks of tears in my eyes, "but my father used to beat me too." It feels like all the courage, and all the tension has left my body. Like the armor has fallen, because my secrets are my shields. I see a wet trail down her cheek, and she wipes at it quickly, "Everything I did wrong, I was either beaten or locked in the closet upstairs to think about what I'd done."

But her expression does not falter. She still looks at me like she has since I met her.

"And it wasn't always with his fists. He would use his belts too." Tobias bites his lip for a moment, and then says, "it got worse after my mother died. He would come home from work, and he'd be pissed off. I always tried to eat early, and stay in my room. But there were times he made me sit at the table with him, so I had no choice. If I missed a chore, or if I didn't finish my homework... stupid stuff that could be easily fixed. There were nights where he beat me so severely that I couldn't sleep on my back. But there were times when he hit my face, and when I went to school I would lie and say stupid excuses so nobody would know. I don't know why I still call him my father." All those nights, cowering against the dresser as I waited for my father to return; all the times I flinched away from his touch; they all come flooding back with the nausea.

Still, I find the words to continue, "He was sick of me not being the obedient child he wanted, so he sent me to school up here. He assumed I would hate it and would want to go back home; he didn't realize I was tired of nightly abuse." The back of my neck feels hot—I expect her to get up and walk out the door—like I am too damaged to be worthy of her time but instead her fingers slip through mine, "after what happened tonight... I scared myself, Tris. I kept asking, after I calmed down a little, if this was how my father felt when he beat me." I don't even bother trying to dry my face, not when the tears keep coming.

"You're not your father, Tobias. Okay?" Tris says, firmly, "you're not."

"Suppose this is only the first time I lose control?" I need to calm down. I can't take these thoughts shouting in my head, "what if...what if I hit you?"

"Push that thought from your mind," she replies, "because that won't happen. You're better than that. I know you are." I stare at her, paralyzed for a moment. But this paralysis is much different from the one this morning—all my life, I never believed in luck because it was never in my hand, but now I have no reason not to. I am lucky, because despite my mental breakdown and nearly killing somebody, she hasn't run off scared nor does she look at me like I am a monster.

She is beyond my comprehension. I sigh, drying my face, "You're not looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy, or something."

"Well, you're not." Tris says, quietly, "You're not."


	10. First

**A/N: I have some deleted scenes that I wrote for this story, which are available on my website. My website will be linked in my bio, on my author page. **

CHAPTER 10 – FIRST

I let Tris take care of my wounds.

She eases up onto the counter, sitting beside the sink, and turns the tap on. I hold my bad hand beneath the water and focus on the feel of it. It quickly becomes a light pink in color.

Tris, with a new rag, begins to carefully scrub at the dried blood stuck in my skin. I feel the pain, but it's more of a slight discomfort the longer it goes on. My knuckles have already started to bruise, nearly swelling to the size of quarters.

We work in silence, but then she says, "you might want to change your shirt." I don't have to glance down to know what she means; the shirt already clings to my skin, damp. I nod, and leave her in the kitchen to change.

She grabs ice, while I rummage through the drawers.

I almost have the shirt over my head when Tris nearly shouts, "—wait!" For a second, I tense up. But I know what she is looking at; and that is my tattoo. I look over my shoulder; she stands a good distance away from me but her eyes are wide. She clears her throat, "Sorry...it's just your tattoo. It's _amazing_."

The corner of my mouth tugs into a half-smirk; I remember watching her get hers done. "I don't invite many people to see me," I say, my mouth dry.

"I can't imagine why," she replies, "I mean, look at you..." My skin burns at her comment; I warm up like I've been ignited. I face her then, grinning a little smugly when her eyes roam down my chest; with her, I don't feel like I need to hide myself—it's..._strange_, but in a good way.

"I did say I'd show you sometime," Tris smiles.

"That you did," she nods, "right before you kissed me." Our game, how'd I'd asked her if she had ever been kissed. And when she said no, I couldn't help but feel a little smug that I would be her first. My shirt is no longer important—I cross the room, pulling her against me. I can feel her warmth through her shirt, and all I want is to just slip my hands beneath the fabric and touch her skin.

She makes me forget.

I kiss her, hard enough that she gasps against my lips. Her breath is warm, and because I am greedy I want more of her; I run my tongue along her bottom lip, longing to taste her mouth. Her lips part for me and she sighs into the kiss, despite my teeth awkwardly knocking into hers.

My hands cradle her face, and my tongue seeks out hers. The kiss becomes velvet, her tongue is soft, and her breaths become hotter, mixing with my air. Her fingers tug at my jeans, pulling my midsection closer to hers and for a moment, I'm afraid she'll see how she affects me and pull away, but she doesn't.

Her hands slide up, her cold palms touch the burning skin of my stomach and I suck in a sharp breath; my stomach is tight beneath her hands, but they feel so good resting there. Her shirt chafes against my skin, and I suddenly realize just how badly I want it removed. It's an intense, carnal need to have her bare skin against mine then.

I try to gently bite down on her lip, but our teeth hit again and she laughs hysterically. Her laugh is one of my favorite sounds, and I smile, enjoying the feeling of her body so tightly pressed up against mine.

I try again, this time, and successfully manage to capture her lip. Tris shivers in my arms, and her hands tighten on my waist and she pulls back after a moment, watching me.

"What?" I ask softly. Tris smiles, and rests her forehead against mine.

"You're amazing," she says. She runs her fingers across my lips, and they tickle; I grin, because out of all the things she could call me—most of which she thankfully hasn't—she calls me amazing. When in fact, amazing is her.

"_You're_ amazing," I say, kissing her briefly. "And beautiful," again, "and mine," one more time. And I am glad to call her mine. Because she is my first of many things—the first girl I ever actually paid attention to; the first girl I've ever kissed; the first I've ever needed in a more physical way. She is the first person I've ever wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

And I honestly believe that she is the first person I've ever loved in more ways than one. And I am very sure that I do love her.

XxXxX

I wake up to the sound of her laughter the next morning.

It's still quite dark out when I peek through my eyelashes at her, resting beside me. She is already looking at me, so I smile and say, "good morning."

"Good morning," she lifts herself up so that she is resting on her arms, and despite the silver pins and needles that prick my arm from the lack of blood flow, I bring my hand up to just touch her. My fingers meet bare skin, and I glance down to see most of her stomach is exposed. Her shirt has risen up, just beneath her chest, pinned by my hand. I move it down to press my palm against the flat, smooth surface and grin, "is there a reason your shirt is up so high?"

She is tempting, to say the least. I think about what would happen if I were to lay her against my pillows and splay soft kisses against her belly; if she would suck in air, and make her stomach thinner. Despite how thin she is, her body is still soft in places.

"You tell me," she says, playfully. She grabs the end of her shirt, and stretches it back down over her skin. My lips tug down, now that I can no longer see her but she doesn't pull my hand away from her body. The air feels warmer under her shirt. "What time is it?"

I unwillingly remove my hand, and glance over my shoulder at the clock, "six-thirty," I answer. Tris sighs, and drags herself up so that she is sitting beside my laying posture.

"I should go," she says, barely above a whisper. I can only nod, but I don't want her to go. I enjoy these mornings, waking up beside her. I hate that we can't spend all day here. I could, because the pit really only needs one leader, but it wouldn't be the same without her.

Her fingers stroke my exposed skin, along the inked flames on my side. She didn't want me to put my shirt back on last night—I could tell by the way she was pouting after I redressed. I smirk to myself for a moment; she could have told me not to.

Tris sighs, and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. I watch her as she gets ready, grabbing her shoes that she kicked off last night. I don't let her get too far away from me, because I want to kiss her.

I grab her wrist, tugging her back over. She has to catch herself from falling forward, and she laughs against my lips. I am tempted to just tell her to stay with me for the day, but I know I can't make her skip.

She gets her shoes on by the door, and almost inaudibly mutters a unwilling 'goodbye'. I'm glad it's not just me that doesn't want her to leave.

XxXxX

I am half-asleep at the controls, with my head resting on my hand. My knuckles dig into my cheekbone, most likely leaving a large red mark imprinted there. I try to rub the sleep from my eyes, but it's fruitless because they droop only seconds later.

Under strict orders, namely because Eric's ego is wounded, I have to stay behind controls until all this blows over. Normally, I wouldn't care that I was stuck up in here but I want to see Tris, and just watching her from glimpses on the screen is not enough.

Basically, Tori has made us avoid each other like the plague today—and I suspect this is how it's going to be until everybody forgets that I beat his face in. I should feel triumphant, victorious, but instead I feel a lot like a pathetic boy in a man's skin.

And Zeke has been watching me like I am about to combust any minute now. It's irritating, but I guess if anybody were to watch over me at least it's Zeke. I still haven't seen the damage I caused to Eric's face—I don't really want to. It wouldn't make me feel any better if I did.

I figured out how to isolate footage from the computers; I don't let Zeke know I can do this. I only isolate it when Zeke starts skimming through cameras—I focus it on the main area, and watch Tris and the others since I have nothing better to do.

Tris keeps glancing behind her, which I can't understand why but when I zoom out I see it's because Eric is watching her. Thankfully he doesn't seem like he'll try anything tonight; part of me wonders if he's afraid of what I'll do if he hurts her.

I think about luring Tris away from the others, so I can spend time with her tonight but I don't know where Tori is and if she catches me out by the main area I might end up making this arrangement last longer. Still, I could get Zeke to get her—or Uriah.

"That's the tenth time you've sighed," Zeke mutters from his spot in front of the computer. I glare down at the keys for a moment, and chew the inside of my cheek.

"I just don't want to be stuck up in here," I answer. Zeke shrugs.

"It's not that bad up here," he says, "besides you got me." I smirk, but it doesn't kill the boredom. I glance up at the clock, and see that it's only past nine—five more hours, at most. Unless Zeke can handle the rest at midnight.

XxXxX

I spend most of my Thursday with Shauna and Zeke in the training room; Shauna is determined to train Tris how to fight, no matter how much I protest. I don't want Tris fighting, because I don't want to see her get hurt.

"You don't need to learn how to," begging her to not train hasn't worked, and my pleading is getting me nowhere as well. I hold her hands, trying to keep her beside me but Shauna grabs her by the shoulders and leads her towards the mats before I can stop her.

"I'm not gonna kill her, sheesh," Shauna mutters. I watch them for a moment, and then she says, "do exactly as I do." Tris tries to keep up, but she is awkward, especially with her stance. She's too rigid right now; her knees are locked, and she doesn't use her arms to protect her face. Shauna has to keep repositioning her blocks.

"Make sure you protect your face," I say, firmly, "and your stomach. Two of the worst places to get hit—you'll go down instantly." Tris nods, but she's focusing more on what to do than actually listening to me. Shauna goes for an uppercut and hits Tris in the stomach. She reels back a few steps, and clutches at her stomach, letting out a low groan.

"You alright?" Shauna asks; I am about to tell Tris to rest, when she nods and Shauna continues, "Good. First things first, you gotta learn to block. Like Four said—you'll go down instantly if somebody gets the first hit to your face, or gut."

I bite the inside of my cheek, and watch as they go again; I tell her what she needs to work on, mostly her blocking. She makes some improvements—she manages to block her face more, but she still leaves her stomach wide open. Shauna gets some hits in at her jaw, and I find myself automatically clenching my teeth at each hit. I want to step in, but I know I shouldn't.

"Not bad," Shauna wipes the sweat from her skin, and says, "you'll definitely need some more work but for the most part you won't need to break any bad habits. As far as we know." Shauna nods to me, and Tris steps down from the mat.

My fingers cradle her jaw, beneath the tender skin and she winces slightly. Her skin is already starting to bruise. I sigh, "This is why I don't want you fighting," I say softly, "I don't like seeing you hurt. And you won't be fighting anybody." She covers my hand with hers, and offers me a small smile.

"Maybe not, but it doesn't hurt to know how." She is right, but I still don't like it.

"Let's get you some ice." We go back to the apartment, and the first thing I do is grab one of the many ice packs I keep. I know she is capable of holding it herself, but I press it to her jaw to give her arms a rest after today. She smiles slightly, sighing quietly, "You're gonna be swollen."

"I'll be fine," she promises. Her fingers overlap mine, holding the ice pack a little tighter and she stretches up on her toes to kiss me. My hands slide down to her hips, giving them a small squeeze and we stay like that, in the middle of my kitchen, for a few minutes before we have to pull away for air.

"Are you staying tonight?" I can't help but ask, I want her to.

She wraps her arms around my neck, smirking, "I don't think Christina would mind my absence." A grin stretches across my face at her answer; I press my lips to the tender skin of her jaw, and her fingers tighten in my hair.

It is one of the best nights of sleep I have ever gotten.


	11. Paranoid

CHAPTER 11 – PARANOID

"She's tough as nails," Shauna says, walking into the control room with sweat lining her forehead, "I swear, she just wants to keep practicing. I finally got her to take a break."

"First thing you'll ever learn about her," I smirk, handing the control panel to Zeke. He looks like a child on Christmas, and instantly begins flipping through footage. "How'd you get her to stop?"

"Finally tired her out," she answers, shaking her head, "sometimes, I think she's just a ball of energy. For such a small girl, she can go a long time. But she took enough hits today—I told her she was gonna strain herself if we kept going," Shauna smirks then, and says, "she told me I sounded just like you, Four." My eyes narrow at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I told her she should take a break, and that there was no way she would master anything by straining herself. That she wouldn't improve any quicker, and she said I sounded just like you." Zeke bursts out laughing behind me, and manages to duck when I swing my arm back at him.

"You basically told her what I told you three years ago," I say. Shauna nods.

"I told her that, too."

"What else, about me, did you tell her?" I ask.

"That's all," she replies, but she says it too casually and I find it hard to believe her. She told Tris more than she is letting on—whether I should pry the answers out of her, or not, I'm not sure. She would be giving away more, indirectly, if she had told Tris something she didn't need to know. I decide I'll let it go, for just this once.

"You do know that all of this training her is a little pointless, right?" I ask after a moment, "she's not going to be fighting anybody."

"Look, Four—I get it, you have some weird no-violence policy..." ironic, considering what recently occurred with Eric, though I understand what she is saying, "but I think that's up to Tris to decide if she wants to fight somebody or not. I know you don't want to see her get hurt, but this chivalrous attitude of yours can be kind of insulting sometimes." I know she means well; Shauna has always been straightforward with me, so what she's said is not bothering me. Her point behind it—it makes me suspect that Tris wants to fight—that's what is.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose to relieve the tension building up, "I'm not saying that she's not capable of taking somebody on. I know she is... but—," _you don't get it_, I want to tell her. Shauna sees this as me saying I don't think girls can fight. I know girls can—I've seen it plenty of times in the last three years—but Tris is too good; people don't fight fair here, they fight dirty and they fight mercilessly. "I am all for her learning this as a way of protecting herself," I say, slowly, "but I will not put up with watching her go into fights, and getting hurt as some form of an adrenaline rush. You know how Eric picks these fights; I don't want Tris getting her eye stabbed out, or her teeth knocked out." Shauna doesn't comment after that and I know I've made myself clear.

XxXxX

That night, I jog down to the pier to clear my mind. Breathing in the cold air feels like a new breath every time.

Although, I keep the collar of my jacket up because the wind is brutal, especially down by the water this late at night. It's November, and I only have so much time before I stop running for the winter. Slipping on a patch of sheer black ice is not fun.

I can see my breath, coming out in large puffs in front of my face beneath the lights. I stop when I reach the end, allowing myself to catch my breath. My hands are frozen and numb, and shoving them into my pockets for warmth is not working.

The cold doesn't bother me much, but my hands are already rough enough. Though despite the wind, it's actually not the coldest it could be. November nights are usually always my favorite, because sometimes they are just the right amount of cold—other times, they're merely just chilly.

The conversation with Shauna is still fresh in my mind. I am worried that Tris plans to fight, and that I won't be there to talk her out of it, or at least try to. I don't want to stop her, if it's something she wants to do, but I also refuse to see her get hurt. I can't promise that I won't try to stop her.

I am also afraid that if I confront her with my suspicions, that she won't be straightforward with me. But I don't doubt Tris, or think that she is not trustworthy—I just want my thoughts to be proven wrong.

XxXxX

"You're supposed to be in controls," Tori says to me as I stroll into the tattoo parlor the next afternoon. I give her a winning smile and she rolls her eyes, "what?"

I shrug, "there's nothing to do there right now—and besides, Zeke's got it covered."

"It's not supposed to be fun, it's supposed to keep you and Eric from killing each other," she replies, shaking her head.

"Eric hardly comes in here," I say, "I can't stay here for a while?" Tori gives me a dirty look, though I know she's only faking irritation; she doesn't mind me.

"Where is he anyway?" I ask.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. But I don't want to run into him on the way back," it's too easy to lie sometimes. Tori looks unconvinced, but she pulls an old needle off the gun in her hand and replaces it with a new one before answering me.

She shrugs, and says, "he's most likely around the main area. If not, then he's probably out looking for fighters for tonight."

"He's got fights going tonight?" Tori nods, with an expression that says it should be obvious. I might be able to lead Tris away—if Tori will let me off controls for the rest of the day. It's worth a shot, "mind if we skip out on watch later?"

"Why?" _So _I_ can distract Tris, that's why. Zeke can do whatever he wants_. But I don't say that.

"Tori, I promise we will stay in controls for the rest of the day and for the rest of the week if you can just give us tonight off?" I plead. She stares at me, blankly, for a few moments, before sighing loudly.

"Fine," she answers, "but on one condition: _you_ stay as far away from Eric as possible. I am not cleaning up his blood again."

"You're the best," I call out, grinning, before I leave the tattoo parlor. I don't catch what she mutters, I am too busy thinking of a way to keep Tris away from the fights tonight. There are many places we could hide out in for a while, but I don't want to confuse her with just how big this compound is. Even I still get lost sometimes.

The chasm's too cold this time of year, I don't want her to freeze.

My apartment, maybe, but she's still weary about being alone with me there; the whole prospect of intimacy, and such. Though I understand why she's unsure; mostly due to our inexperience of relationships as a whole. I don't think I am ready for that either.

We haven't been on a date...

I don't think I would screw anything up this time; Tris is not easily offended, thankfully. And I think she's used to my mood swings at this point. She knows about all of the horrible dates I was dragged on—I don't think she would expect anything extravagant, really.

I like that about her, that she is simple when it comes to things like this.

We could go back to the net. It is quiet there, and we could be alone. A redo, of our first night there.

Also, I could avoid Eric, and Tori wouldn't need to worry about what I'm doing.

When I get back to the control room, my thoughts are solid. Tris and I will have our first date. Zeke is not in the room—I don't know where he went, but I decide that everything will be fine if I leave for a few more minutes.

I sneak up to the apartments, specifically his, and find the key wedged between the number plate and the wall. I've watched him hide the key for years—he changes spots twice a year. This also isn't the first time I've done this.

I listen for any sounds inside the room first, and find it's silent. It's likely that he went to get something to eat, and that he is just not in the compound. I unlock the door and step inside. His apartment is freezing, because it is one that sits below ground, unlike mine. I shut the door behind me, quietly, and head over to the cabinet, beside the sink, where he stores most of his hard drinks.

Most of it is beer—I know Tris wouldn't drink any of it; I smirk, remembering her expression when she first tried it. I shift the first row of bottles out of the way, and search through the back rows. I see different whiskies and vodkas, all of which would be much too potent.

Tris is also a small girl, even one sip might be too strong for her.

In the farthest end of the cabinet, Zeke keeps lighter drinks; champagnes, and lighter beer. I opt for the champagne, because the taste is not gross—it's actually kind of bubbly, more carbonated than most.

I take one of the empty flasks from the top of the shelf and fill it to the neck. I return the bottles back, and leave the apartment, locking it back up. Zeke doesn't really care what I take from him, he knows he'll get the flask back eventually. As for the drinks, he has more than he's capable of drinking in one sitting, losing a quarter of a bottle is not a big deal to him.

He practically gives the alcohol away if he's drunk enough, at least.

I return to the control room, and I see the top of Zeke's head just above one of the monitors. It's almost like he never left. He asks, "where did you go?"

"Got us the night off," I say, sitting down in the chair across from him.

"Really?" His expression lights up, and the screens are forgotten, "what's the catch?"

"We finish working in here today, and for the rest of the week." I answer, pulling a camera screen up. I hear him sigh.

"So basically, after tonight, it's right back to the same old same old." I nod. He sits up, cracking his knuckles, and asks, "Why did you ask for tonight off, exactly?"

"Eric's got fights going tonight, and I want to get Tris away from them," I mutter.

"You think she's gonna want to fight?"

I shrug, sighing, "I don't know. But she's training with Shauna again today, and part of me thinks she might want to. I don't know who Eric's picked to fight, but if it's that boy Peter again I think she'll try."

"Can't you just talk her out of it?"

"Believe me, I've tried to talk her out of just training," I scowl. I pull the footage up from the training room, just in time to watch Tris get Shauna's knee in her ribs. I feel a slight headache starting behind my eyes. She is improving, at least, but she is still weak. "But she can be stubborn."

"Well, maybe your instincts are wrong," Zeke shrugs, "maybe you're getting paranoid for no reason." It's not an unreasonable conclusion, but it's not likely either. I am not usually paranoid for no reason.

XxXxX

Watching Lynn fight—especially against a man almost twice her size—and win, was not the outcome I was expecting at all.

The only time Zeke keeps one screen up, and it's to watch the first fight. I was a little aggravated that I couldn't be down there before it began, because one of our friends, Gus, had taken forever to arrive; but thankfully Eric chose somebody other than Tris. I didn't think Lynn was going to win, because I have seen how Edward fights many times, though she fights just as unfairly, I'll give her that much.

I get down to the main area, avoiding Eric's line of vision as much as possible, until I reach Tris and the others. I take her hand, and we leave the group, sneaking through the back hallways. It's been days since we've been alone together, and right now with her here beside me, I just want to kiss her.

My hands find her hips, and I slowly guide her backward, until she is pressed up against the wall. She looks confused and eager at the same time, it makes me grin, and I say, "Hi." I move my hands up to her soft waist, adding some pressure to my grip.

Tris smiles, letting out a breathy reply, "hi." And it is enough to warm my insides up, like the few sips of the alcohol I took. I lean down, kissing her with every ounce of greed I feel in this moment. She kisses me back, and my hands find hers, locking our palms together. I pull them up after a moment, and wrap her arms around my neck. I touch her sides again, lifting her up; the wall holds most of her weight, while my body just pins her in place.

I'm finding that I enjoy the faint taste of mint, and the warm breaths her mouth has to offer as I deepen our kiss. She feels good, beneath my body.

Tris catches me off guard, however, when her legs drape around my waist. I am pulled closer, and the warmth from her body is maddening. It leaves me breathless, and I have to pull away for air. I choke out, "You're making it hard to be wise, Tris."

My fingers find a strip of bare skin beneath the hem of her shirt, and electricity shocks my fingertips, but I don't move them away. I like the feeling of her; she feels soft, almost like velvet, or maybe silk. I may have thought that I wasn't ready to be _that_ way with her yet, but my body definitely seems to know what it's doing around her.

For a few minutes, I listen to her breaths come out in short, ragged puffs, and then she eases herself down to stand in front of me again. She keeps her back against the wall, and says, "sorry." I notice she apologizes a lot, especially when it comes to being somewhat intimate with me.

I guide her away from the wall, fitting my hand against the small of her back. "Don't be sorry about that," I reply. She has no reason to; she is the only person I want to be that close with. I like when she takes some control. As we walk down the dim corridors, I tell her about working the controls with Zeke, while she tells me about training with Shauna, and watching Lynn's fight.

I laugh, "that was the only time Zeke kept one screen up."

"Remind me never to take her on," Tris says.

"I wouldn't even try," I tell her, "not after watching that. Lynn fights mean." We are getting close to the net at this point; I wonder if she even remembers this hallway. She has only been this way at least twice, but a lot of these hallways tend to look the same after a while.

We pass the hallway leading to my apartment when she asks, "Where are we going?" I pick her hand up again, squeezing her fingers lightly.

"Well," I start, peering over at her, "_we_ have not been on a proper date." She smirks, slightly.

"Hmm yes, beating the crap out of somebody and then being shut away to a control room can limit a person's dating." I laugh, and pull her into my side. She's definitely sharp.

"Okay, smart-mouth," I retort playfully, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze, "tell me, where do you think we're going?" She glances around for a moment.

"Uh..."

"Think about it," I say, close to her ear. She shivers, and bites down on her bottom lip. She gets a look of realization in her eyes, and she glances up at me.

"Are we going up to the net?" Tris asks. The corners of my lips curl up; _definitely sharp_. I reach into my pocket, and pull the flask out. She stares at it, as it catches the light above.

"Only if you want to," I say after a few seconds.

She smirks, "It's not that gross beer again, is it?"

"Something that cheap?" I tease, twisting the cap off. I take a sip of it, enjoying the slight roughness from the carbonation. I shake my head, and say, "no. I stole something better."

"Stole?" She asks, amused.

"Zeke won't notice," I reply, holding it out to her. Tris takes it from my hands without much hesitation. The neck just touches her lips, when she smiles. She sips some of it, and I watch the movement of her throat as she swallows.

She licks it off her lips, and the urge to kiss her again is stronger than ever. I want to taste the alcohol off her lips. Tris asks, "What is this?"

"Champagne," I answer, "Zeke has a bunch of different drinks stocked up. Though this has a low concentration."

"So we're drinking wine? Hmm, how fancy we are," she teases, handing the flask back to me. The tips of my fingers brush across hers, and she says, "It's definitely an improvement from beer." I nod, amused, and close it up.

"And you're right, by the way. I thought, maybe I could show off my knowledge of the compound―,"

She cuts me off, "―I think you've established that."

I grin, nodding, and say, "―exactly, and afterwards we would make out by the chasm." Tris laughs, so I continue, "but then I thought, a second chance at that night sounds better. Wouldn't you agree?" She smiles, and nods slowly.

We ascend to the top, reaching the platform. Light comes from the hole above our heads, and I help her into the net first, before getting myself in after her. We slide down to the middle of the net, and the ropes cradle around our weight in a tunnel of diamond-shaped stitches. The net shadows across her almost translucent skin, and I see a flash of white, her teeth, for a few seconds.

She grabs my hand, running her fingers gently over the prominent tendons. It tickles, but it feels good also. Cold air ghosts over us from the hole, and I see her hair being blown away from her face; she sighs, quietly.

"Twenty questions, or a more sophisticated game?" Her voice is quiet, like she is afraid of disrupting the peace.

I smirk; it's sort of a vague question, so I ask, "What's 'a more sophisticated game'?" I see her shoulders shrug, and she lets out a quiet, almost nervous laugh.

"I don't know... guess what color underwear I'm wearing?" For a moment, I sit there stunned. I'm not sure I heard her right at first—she says it like it is supposed to be casual, though I know it's the first thing that popped into her head.

"That is not sophisticated," I laugh. Then I pretend to be serious, and I guess, "blue."

"I wasn't being serious," she replies quickly. I can't see it for myself, but I assume she is blushing. I hear the embarrassment in her voice.

"Well, I am," I tease.

"Well, you're wrong," Tris retorts, shaking her head. She looks down at our hands, and now I'm almost positive she is embarrassed. I play with her thin fingers, twisting them around mine for a few minutes.

Then I say, "White."

"Tobias―" she says, terse.

"―black."

"I'm not telling you!" She cries, shaking her head so quickly that she trembles the net. Her fingers flatten out on the backs of my hands, they're cold. Her hands are always cold. I lean forward and press my lips to her hairline; I feel her body relax some, and she leans into me.

I am an asshole, because I find her embarrassment, about what color her underwear is, a little hysterical. She brought it up—she made it too easy for me, "Then show me," I whisper, in the quietest voice I can muster. I wish I could see her face; the beautiful pink of a blush filling her pale skin, and the realization in her bright eyes.

She punches my arm, as hard as she can, and I burst out laughing, "I'm joking, Tris."

Tris sighs, but I hear the smile in her voice, "you're a jerk."

"Well I'm not the nicest," I say, tilting her chin up with my fingers. I ask, "do you still like me?"

She bites her lip, like she is trying not to smile, and replies, "of course I do." I smile, and kiss her nose, and then her lips. I kiss her harder then, enjoying the way her lips automatically part and her breaths become mine.

I touch her waist, letting my fingers just slip past her shirt. She shivers, and I know my hands are cold but she doesn't pull away or stop me—in fact, she pulls me closer. I catch myself on my forearms, and twist my fingers into the net beside her head.

"Not bad for a first date," her lips brush against mine as she speaks, and I find it a little sexy. I smile, closing my teeth around her lip, softly. Her breaths whisper across my upper lip, before I press a brief kiss to her mouth again.

"It's the best one I've been on," I say, breathing her in. My lips find the skin of her neck, and I kiss her there once. She breathes out a soft laugh, before kissing my temple. She's not as embarrassed now, so I try again, "And I must ask, what color?"

It takes her a moment, before she smirks, "Just shut up and kiss me." And I do. My fingers curl in her hair, and hers grip at my shirt, and we kiss beneath the hole, and above the noise from the pit, and in the cold air.

We kiss until we need air.


	12. Reaction

CHAPTER 12 – REACTION

We keep our promise to Tori, and stay in controls for the rest of the week. Although Zeke lets me sneak out for some time in the training room, or for a run.

I wipe the shower water from the back of my neck. I am on my way back up to the controls, when I turn the corner in time to see Eric and the boy, Peter, walking toward the pit. I duck back behind the wall, and strain to listen. They stop just before the hall ends, and I can hear Eric's voice, slow and quiet, "—you'll be fighting tonight."

Peter nods, "Not against Edward..."

Eric scoffs, "and have you fail on me again? No," I see Peter's scowl, like he has just tasted something sour—his pride is still wounded from losing the first time. "I've got some people in mind for you to take on. This way it's guaranteed that you won't let me down." I almost feel bad for Peter; part of me wonders if he even realizes that Eric is only using him. Eric will boost his bravado, ultimately creating a powerful weapon but when he doesn't need Peter anymore, he'll move on to the next title holder. I've seen Eric do this too many times—although, I don't believe Edward has fallen for any of Eric's tricks. Edward is smart, and he knows he doesn't need Eric's help.

I'm surprised Eric is even considering Peter again—there has to be something about Peter that's got his attention. I don't know him that well, but Eric sees something dangerous, powerful. And because of how Tris feels about him, I know he is somebody to steer clear of.

I don't miss Eric's statement. If he has some people in mind, I imagine that Tris is on that list somewhere. And I am stuck in controls tonight; there is no way Tori will let me off again. Hopefully Tris doesn't stick too close to the fights tonight—if Eric can't see her, he won't choose her.

XxXxX

The majority of my day, in controls, is spent watching Peter in the training room, preparing for the fight, and keeping an eye out for Eric. They don't speak again, after the conversation I listened in on and I have a bad feeling about tonight.

Zeke is out—I told him I would watch the monitors for him. I assumed he would be joining Shauna in the training room, but then I saw him go into his apartment with a girl I've never seen before; I didn't think too long about his whereabouts after that.

It's just me in the controls tonight; I'm thankful, because it means I have reign over what's on the monitors. I see Tris on the screen, standing between Uriah and Christina. She watches the fight that's currently taking place.

I think I know what Eric sees in Peter. Peter has the same sadistic streak—his first opponent is a girl, who looks a little too weak to know how to fight. She's not horrible, but she has a lot of bad habits; bad blocking is the minor problem.

She hits the floor, fumbling to catch herself and she tries to get back up, but Peter steps on her back, pinning her to the floor. She's an idiot, if she thinks she's going to be able to continue to fight in her current condition.

The monitors are not the clearest, but even I can see that she is bleeding through her white shirt. She's carried out of the arena a few minutes later. I see Uriah, from the bottom of the screen, lean toward Tris and I want to know what he's saying.

Eric is scanning over the crowd, and I bite my lip so hard I feel a sharp pinch. He picks a boy, with the same lanky build as the girl—he is deliberately choosing the weak ones so Peter doesn't fail him. But I'm finding, that I believe Peter could easily take somebody his own size on. He took Lynn out last week—she sulks, more so than usual, every time I see her now.

This new opponent doesn't last long. Peter gets the first hit in, at his gut and I can see the boy gasping for air. He tries to swing at Peter, missing each time. I give him credit though, he never once falls down after taking a hit.

I notice how Peter fights: he steps before he punches, and he always goes for the stomach first. He seems to know it's the first place to catch somebody off guard; more often than not, people forget to block down low, because they're too afraid of taking a hit to the face.

This fight only last a good fifteen minutes, before Peter sends an uppercut to the boy's jaw. This time, he loses his balance and hits the floor. He's done. I can only imagine the pain he's in, and the pain he's going to be in once those bruises form and his cuts heal.

Controls can be pretty boring when you're the only one there. I pinch the bridge of my nose to relieve some of the tension starting behind my eyes; I almost wish Zeke were here to keep me company. Or Shauna, at least, but she's been trying to cheer Lynn up, if that's even possible, since her losing fight with Peter.

And then everything happens at once; I see a blond head move to the center of the arena on the monitor. Her small form, compared to Peter's abrasive stance. Panic consumes me—I want to yell at her to not to, but I know she won't hear me, can't hear me. Because I am stuck up in this room, trying not to vent my anger on all of the technology around me.

Though all are perfect candidates—easily replaceable, if not for the high cost of each one.

I see Uriah, glancing up at the cameras from across the room; he knows that I am here. Either he is begging that I come down there and stop her, or he's hoping that I'm not watching. I would find out eventually, though, especially since I already know this outcome:

I would, and will, find her in the infirmary.

Peter stalks toward her, slowly; she is a piece of meat, and he's a predator. Eric confides in him, because they are both sadistic, maybe even masochistic with how much they enjoy other people's pain. My throat feels swollen, and dry like it's been scraped raw with sandpaper. I don't want to watch this—Tris is strong, but she is stubborn, and her stubbornness is her fatal flaw.

I can only hope, now, that Shauna's training has taught her something useful. Hopefully, how to tire her opponent out, and stay up.

Peter throws the first punch, and my muscles tense like I am the one about to receive the blow. Tris ducks, but I see her stumble as she takes it to the shoulder. She is too distracted by the first one to notice him swing again, and this time I watch her head whip back much too quickly.

My fingers grip the desk, and it feels like they've indented the wooden material.

I start to feel lightheaded, and I realize it's because I am holding my breath. Tris ducks in time for the third swing, and Peter misses her completely. He tries again, this time connecting with her nose. I watch her hands cup her face, and when she pulls them away they are stained in a glistening red. My fists hit the desk repeatedly; they are burning to smack him a few times, or throw him against the chasm railing. Both would be detrimental to his character, his appearance.

I want to imprint in him the pain that he is causing her right now. I want him to feel the blood gushing down his face; I grit my teeth together, to keep myself from leaving this room to end the fight now. Though I know I can't do that, for many reasons.

_I_ don't care about those reasons. But I'm not going to go down there just yet, this angry, because if I do Peter will need more than a few stitches and more wins to get his pride back up and functioning.

Tris's jaw drips blood, nearly covering her neck and shirt and chin. I can't watch this, but I can't look away because I am scared.

Peter's knee jerks up into her side, hitting her in the ribs and she reels back, nearly falling. "Come on, Tris..." I grit out. The muscles in my jaw burn from being so tight. She is losing, and her strength to continue is dwindling with each passing moment. Majorly from blood loss, and definitely from too many hits to the head. Peter grabs her by the arm and wrenches her forward, letting go at the last second.

Tris tumbles to the ground, failing to catch herself and her head heads the mat. Watching her surrender is the worst sight there is; she turns her face toward the ground, pressing her cheek against the floor and I imagine it's because she is fatigued, and sick to her stomach.

What turns my stomach the most, other than watching her give up, is the sick enjoyment the crowd is getting from watching a boy, who is supposed to be a man, beat a woman until she can longer get back up on her own.

Peter throws a merciless kick to the side of her head, and the sound from the back of my throat, from my gut, is something close to animalistic. I am out of the room and storming to the main area before I even realize it.

Tori sees me, in the midst of inking someone; she springs up, chasing after me, shouting my name, but I am not listening. I hear the sounds from the pit getting louder the closer I get, and I am shoving through people to get to Tris—I don't care that Eric is watching me in my fit of rage.

I only see Tris; with blood smeared across her skin, pooling onto the floor beneath her head. The red stains her lips, and her teeth—her mouth is parted, like she is sleeping but this is not her sleeping. Peter is about to try another kick; what number he is on, I don't know, but I shove him to the side and pick her up in my arms.

Her head slumps against my shoulder, and I feel sick at the thoughts that swarm my head. She is limp, almost lifeless, and that is the worst conclusion my mind goes to. I feel Tori grab at my sleeve, but I pull free and hold Tris close to me as I shove against more people, careful not to hit her on anything, or anyone.

I should be supporting her back, but I hold her head against me because her neck is more important to keep safe at the moment. I feel the warmth from her body, and her too slow breathing against my neck.

At least she is breathing.

I don't realize that I am being trailed, until Tori brings a cart full of medical supplies over to me as I lay Tris down on one of the cots. "I'll kill him," I spit out, feeling the anger boil up inside me again.

"You are gonna focus on her right now," Tori says firmly, giving me a hard look. "You are not going after him." I want to contradict her; tell her that once I am finished cleaning Tris up, that I am going back out there but the venom coursing through my veins will only cause me to yell at her right now. I bite my tongue, and pull a wet rag out of the bowl on the tray.

I hear Tori's footsteps get quieter and quieter, until I am sure it is only me and Tris in here now. I focus on her, feeling myself calm down a little so that I can be as gentle as possible. I start on the blood that's beginning to dry on her chest, and neck. It washes away, clinging to the rag, although it still stains her skin.

I have to hold her head still, to clean her jaw and her nose. I am careful, not holding too tightly in case she has any breaks. The blood masked most of the bruises forming on her face; they've already started swelling.

Her breaths are still slow; they are warm, ghosting across the backs of my hands. Even in her comatose state, she lets out a weak, gurgling cough and it sounds painful, like it's choking her. Her skin is pale, paler than usual; she almost looks transparent. My fingers automatically smooth her hair back, and I try to get most of the blood out of the ends.

I know I won't be able to clean the blood out of her shirt, now that it's seeped into the material. It'll be a miracle if she can later on. I work on her hands next; they are not split open, she never got a strong enough hit in, but they are caked in blood from when she clutched at her jaw. It's hard to get the blood out from between the crevices and creases of her palms, but I get the majority of it out at least.

Peter's vicious grip left red marks around her wrist; the skin bubbles, like she was scratched and I imagine maybe she was. I remember that he kneed her ribs, so as carefully as I can, I move her arm aside and lift the bottom of her shirt to see the harm done. Her ribs jut out with each breath, and four or five of them already begin to discolor. I put her shirt back down.

I grab the ice packs from the cooler on the bottom of the cart and place one against her side, and another beneath her chin, with a towel to keep her skin from getting too cold. The last ice pack I place on the pillow beside her head, and turn her head carefully toward it.

My fingers find the smooth skin of her wrist and I can feel the pulse, a little stronger, there and I see the rise and fall of her chest more prominent now. I toss all of the stained rags back into the bowl, now full of pink water, and sit down beside the cot. Now she looks like she could be sleeping, but the blueish-purple tint forming along her jaw is beginning to show.

I see a split in her lip, already beginning to scab over, but I don't see any other cuts on her surprisingly. Most of the blood came from hits to the mouth and nose. I feel anger course through me again, and I stand up, giving Tris a final once-over.

Her blood has already set in the fabric of my shirt, and I feel nauseas for a minute, before I swallow back bile and stalk out of the infirmary. I will come back for her, but for now she is safe. I know where I am going, and I have figured out what I am going to say.

Another fight—two new opponents this time—is starting. I see Eric, and then I see red. When he spots me, storming over to him the corners of his lips turn up in a remorseless smirk.

"What the hell are you playing at?" I demand, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. He stares me down, prying at my hand to break free. He's lucky my fingers aren't around his throat right now. I am screaming at him in the next moment, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Pitting defenseless people up against some ruthless asshole?"

Eric flashes an ugly, wicked grin and says, "She wasn't backing down. You could have stopped her... but then you would have looked like dear old dad. Just as demanding... just as controlling. You wouldn't want that, would you, _Tobias?_" His voice is low, menacing. He knows where to hit me; the weakest parts of me, and unfortunately they are in his knowledge.

The main fight is forgotten, all eyes are on us now.

I won't fight him, because that's what he wants. For someone who actually has a brain, he doesn't use it very often. I would beat him again—that's been the outcome for as long as I can remember. He just wants a reaction; I have given him enough just from confronting him now. I want to beat him senseless, but I withhold.

I release his shirt, roughly, knocking him back a few steps. He gives me a dirty look, between a glare and what looks like he's murdered me inside his head a dozen ways.

"Watch yourself," he spits through clenched teeth. I feel a tug on my arm, and I turn to see Tori glaring at the both of us. I know she's more pissed off with me than Eric, but I honestly don't care. Eric needs to learn to keep himself in line—if we were in a different setting, different situation, with different consequences, he would have been shot by now for insubordination.

And I think I would gladly do the honors.

"I am not gonna tell you again, Four," Tori hisses; her grip on my arm hurts, and it's enough to clear my head for a moment, "leave it alone. You're only adding to his fire." I refuse to show submission, because Eric hasn't looked away yet either. But he fixes the collar of his shirt and turns away from me.

I head back to the infirmary because I need to clear my head, and I need to be beside Tris.

XxXxX

I check my watch nearly every ten minutes. Eventually a few hours pass, and it's early morning when Tris begins to stir awake. I see her eyelids flutter, and her brows pull close together. She lets out a sigh of pain, and tries to sit up.

As carefully as I can, I reach out to stop her. She turns her head, but the motion looks painful, rusted. She stares at me briefly, with realization, and something close to panic, in her eyes.

I don't know what to say just yet; I'm afraid of losing my temper with her because I am still very angry with this situation. Tris looks away from me, up at the ceiling. I see her teeth scrape along her bottom lip, and she whimpers again.

"How long have I been out?" She asks quietly; her voice is rough, cracked. It sounds like she's swallowed sand, and now her throat is raw.

"A few hours," I answer. Despite how visible the discoloration and the swelling is now, she still looks like my Tris—striking. But I shouldn't be thinking of her so admirably right now, because it will not help. Instead, I gently touch her face, running my thumb across her cheekbone. She shifts again, and I see her bite back pain, "Eric has a lot of nerve..."

"That had nothing to do with you fighti—,"

I feel anger again, and I spit out, "—It didn't?" The look I give her is incredulous, and accusing, and I know I need to try and calm down.

"I think he and Peter had this planned beforehand," her voice is even, but she looks like she is holding back tears.

"What makes you say that?" I ask, softer.

"The way Eric has watched us like a hawk around the pit..." she replies, "and just how much Peter hates me, for no reason. Maybe there was no reason, other than to hurt us." Tris shrugs, and her shoulders drop heavily. She winces.

"This was cruel," I tell her, brushing the tips of my fingers over the bruises on her jaw. She doesn't know how bad this looks right now—she doesn't know how badly I want to kill Eric, and Peter.

"They're not the nicest," she whispers back. She lifts her hand to cover mine, and I see her fingers shaking visibly. Her hand is warm against the back of mine.

"Why didn't you just stay back?" my voice wavers, sounding weak, and all I can do is shake my head, "you wouldn't be here right now. You wouldn't be in pain...you wouldn't have bruises, or cuts."

"Well, I do," she says, irritably. I want to tell her that I am just as frustrated as she is and that I know scolding her won't heal her any faster, but I can't help it. She could have avoided any of this ever happening, "and it's over with. You can be a coward, or you can be a fighter. I wasn't going to back down."

Her way of thinking can be so absurd sometimes; there are times when I feel like I understand her mind, and others when she completely throws me off track, "Sometimes, there's more bravery in walking away, Tris," I say. Her eyes are piercing, and they glass over again as I speak. My thumb grazes her lip, trying not to touch the split but I accidentally do and she flinches.

She sinks back into the cot and sighs, "you're right." I don't expect her to concede, but she does and for a moment I'm not sure if she's saying it to appease me, or if she actually believes what she said.

"You're actually agreeing with me?" I ask.

I see a small flash of defiance in her eyes, but dejectedly she says, "I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore tonight." She closes her eyes, and I see a tear roll down her cheek. I didn't want to make her cry. We fall into silence; I brush her hair out of her face to give my hands something to do.

I kiss her temple. Sighing I say, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be chastising you."

"I don't want to stay here," she whimpers, trying to find a comfortable position on the cot, "can we go back to your apartment?" She looks unsettled.

"Can you move?" I ask. I don't mind carrying her, but I know how stubborn she can be. If she can walk, she probably will—she will reject my help because I am almost positive she's not very happy with me right now, specifically for making her cry.

"I think so," she mumbles. I knew it. I grip her shoulders carefully, helping her into a sitting position. Her muscles are rigid, and most definitely sore as she stands up. She lets out a groan of discomfort, and her fingers grip my arm for stability.

The walk to the apartment is slow, but the moment I get her into my apartment and over to my bed, she is asleep atop the blanket.

There is just enough room for me beside her, so I lie down and pull the small quilt up over her body. It doesn't take long for me to drift off after her.


	13. Possible

**A/N: All of these Insurgent trailers and clips, I can't make it to March. Oh my god, I need March 20th to arrive fast. I always have like mini heart attacks and spasms when the trailer comes on tv. I'll be in the middle of writing a chapter, and it comes on and I die inside. I am trying to post for this story a little more at the moment because I realized just how far behind I am. I am 26 (soon 27) chapters into Tris's point of view, and I've neglected poor Tobias so I apologize for those of you who want to read his pov around the same time as Tris's. I will try to catch up. **

CHAPTER 13 – POSSIBLE

I stir awake when the mattress shifts and I see Tris struggle to stand. She picks up one of the ice packs as she rises and holds her side, her fingers curl around her waist to stop the pain and she walks around the bed. I throw the blanket off my body to get up, and she sighs, "you don't need to follow me..."

_Actually I do_, I think. But I press my lips together and stay quiet. She's still upset; as well am I, so I'm not really worried that she's being cold with me. I follow her into the bathroom because she doesn't slam the door in my face and I lean against the frame, watching her.

Tris stands with her body pressed against the counter, and stares into the mirror. Her fingers ghost over the bruises, and her eyes glass over for a moment. The bruises now cover most of her face, from just below her eye down to the bottom of her chin. The skin is swollen around her nose and along her jawline. She touches the back of her head; I didn't realize there was anything wrong there.

She catches my eyes in the mirror, and her scowl matches mine. She drops her gaze down to the sink and mutters, "it's not that bad."

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" I ask a little harsher than I mean to. Tris sighs, and holds the ice pack—that's probably only cool now—to her face. She faces me, meeting my eyes.

"Myself, probably," she answers, bitterly, "It looks bad, doesn't it?"

I shrug; it's not horrible, like some of the things I've seen but it doesn't look good either. I press off the doorframe and walk toward her, cupping her jaw, "well, I've seen worse. But it's pretty bad... you should have just walked away—," she wrenches free from my touch. Cold air fills my palm.

"—apparently I should have done a lot of things," she hisses, walking around me into the kitchen. I sigh, and will myself to bite back what I want to say. Tris sits down in one of the chairs at the counter, glaring at the floor, "you don't have to keep telling me that."

I feel a flash of irritation, and snap, "Well, maybe you should start listening to me then."

"It was my choice," she grits out, "I could have fought him, or walked away, and I chose to fight."

"You didn't need to," I say, terse. Her glare is just as intense as mine is; I don't understand her reasoning for fighting Peter. Why does she think she had to fight him? Is it something with pride? To prove herself? I don't get it.

"So you can fight Eric, because you were provoked. But I can't fight Peter, because I was?" I clench my teeth, as though my mouth as just been wired shut. I give her a hard look, holding back my anger. I don't want to lash out at her. She is right, but that's not the point. If she only fought him for that reason, then I clearly don't understand her at all.

"I don't want to see you get your face kicked in, again," it's the best I can manage, because anything else would only set her off. This is already ugly enough; we don't need to start a screaming match.

"He did not kick my face in," she disagrees firmly, "And news flash: I don't like seeing you with blood covering your knuckles, either." I sigh loudly, frustrated, and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Did you even look at yourself in the mirror, Tris? Clearly?" Tris shifts in the chair, like she is uncomfortable; at the moment, I don't care if she is, she needs to understand, "Right now, your face is black and blue, and swollen. You got kicked in the head, twice last night. And punched in the nose—surprisingly, nothing is broken."

"I can take a punch, then—,"

"—I'm getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on, Tris," I snap again; she opens her mouth to say something—maybe something insulting—but I continue, "I don't like seeing you hurt. Nobody should ever touch you like that," I say slowly. She stares at me, like she still doesn't see my reasoning.

I don't know how to tell her that watching that fight last night was like all those childhood memories, replaying in my mind. Watching her receive each hit was like watching my mother give in to my father's abuse.

Peter is like my father; he gets the sick fascination with power, and force, and how it can consume somebody.

"It'll heal," she speaks softer, weaker. I don't like hearing her voice like that.

"And when it does, do you plan on fighting Peter again?" The edge in my voice is razor sharp suddenly, "Do you plan on showing him that he can do this again?" She gets to her feet, standing only a few inches away in front of me. She's angry now.

"I'm not a child," she says harshly, jabbing a finger into my chest, "Stop scolding me like I am one—!" I feel like my skin has been scratched raw; it's still not easy, not even with her sometimes, to talk about my family. If you could even call it that. The troubled, defective son who refuses to acknowledge where he came from... the father who could be a man one minute, and a monster the next... and the mother, who's existence almost feels nonexistent because she is gone for the rest of his life.

Suddenly I am yelling, unaware of what volume is, "—It's because you don't get it—!"

She's just as loud, screaming back "—What don't I get?" I try to grab her hand, to stop her insistent poking but she rips her hand away from me like my touch repulses her and it leaves me feeling empty for a moment. I don't want her to be afraid of me, or hate me. She never looks away from me as we stare each other down.

After a long moment, she steps back and I release the breath I was holding. I bite the inside of my cheek, hard, processing how we got to yelling. "Do you remember what I told you, after the incident with Eric? About my mother?"

Tris's expression softens, as well as her voice, and she says, "Of course I do."

"I watched my mother get hurt, at the hands of my own father, Tris. I've seen my mother bleed, almost to the point where I didn't think it'd ever stop. I've watched her fall to her knees, and give up. My father was supposed to love my mother, not abuse her. I saw the same compulsion in Peter's expression, hitting you, that my father had every time he beat my mother, or even me. My father was supposed to be a man, not a monster—he's a coward, just like Peter. I refuse to watch you get hurt, especially by somebody who's supposed to be a man. Peter is sick; men are not supposed to hit women, Tris. Okay? My mother taught me that—she made sure I learned that. No matter if the fights are supposed to be for entertainment, or if you chose to fight in it." It's still wrong—it's disgusting.

She bites down on her lip, dropping her gaze to the floor. Her fingers cup her jaw, and she says quietly, "I hadn't thought about that." I nod, slowly.

"The thing I hate the most, is this feeling like I expect everybody to understand it," I expect them to understand the hell I went through, like it was a normal childhood to have. Like all families are broken in some way. But mine cannot be fixed, and mine was not normal. Normal families ate dinner together, and they talked. Normal families never sat in silence, and wondered if you would have a chance to speak that night instead of listen. Normal _children_ never watched the fire leave their mothers' eyes more and more each night. All of the bitter thoughts assault my mind, and I'm so tired of them. I just want them to stop.

Her voice wavers, "I can't imagine the war you live with inside your head and I'm not about to leave you alone on the battlefield. I won't fight Peter again." I am hoping that she says that, because she genuinely means it—not just to appease me. I don't ever want to see her surrender like that ever again.

"Promise?" I ask. I know it's selfish, because she is wired like me—stubborn, and wanting to take him down the first chance she gets. But I need her to be okay again.

Her answer is reluctant, and I know that she is having a hard time trying to commit to it, but she mumbles, "Promise."

XxXxX

Zeke watches me like I am a ticking time bomb. He heard about, and rewatched the footage from the other night. He also mentioned to me about the argument this morning—apparently Uriah had been in that corridor, and he overheard me and Tris.

I sigh, pressing, hard, on my temples with the heels of my hands.

"Shouldn't you be worrying about the monitors?" I ask flatly.

Zeke shrugs, "sorry. You just look..._bad_." _I feel bad, too_, I think, shaking my head. He turns his chair, so he is facing away from me but he peers at me through the corner of his eye. "Did you get any sleep last night? I can take over—,"

"—I'm fine, Zeke," I dismiss him quickly. I didn't get sleep, for the most part. It was just after three in the morning when she finally woke up, and we didn't get back to my apartment until a little while after that. I had gotten maybe an hour of sleep in after that.

And then I was worried she wouldn't be comfortable, because of how much pain she had to have been in—though if she was, she didn't show it. So my four hours after that consisted of me keeping a watch over her. Only starting to fall asleep again when she got up.

"Two more hours," Zeke says with a loud sigh.

"What are you in a hurry for?" I ask; I want to tell him to watch the monitors again, but he's not playing around with the panel so I let it go. He is playing one of the games he wrote up—at least he's not worsening my headache.

It's almost laughable how last night I actually wanted his company, and yet right now I wish I had this room all to myself. Maybe it's just because he's afraid I'll suddenly lose it again. Unlikely, of course.

Tori gave us the night off—specifically because of Zeke's request this time—and because he's weary of my mood swings. Basically, it's his way of saying I need a drink. However, I'm not really in the mood to indulge in drinking my conscience away.

I still feel on edge; I cross the room and say over my shoulder, "I'm going to the training room." Zeke mumbles a 'see you later' before the door shuts behind me.

I run my fingers over the backs of my hands. The splits on my knuckles are almost completely healed over.

I push the door to the training room open with little effort, and take in my surroundings for a moment. I always admired the size of this room; everything had a place, and when it didn't you could move things around. You could make room for it.

If only minds could work the same way all of the time.

Though the moment the door closes my head feels clearer, more quiet. I can focus—I focus on each breath, and tie them my movements. I've always had a busy mind; and being unfocused, overwhelmed, or distressed is how you hurt somebody—namely, yourself. So I've learned to even my movements with my breathing, especially in dire circumstances.

I pick up the roll of tape off the table and wrap my knuckles in thick laps.

Still, every time my fists connect with the punching bag it stings. I don't realize how hard I am punching, until I have to shake my hands out. I used to clench my hands so hard, I'd start to lose the feeling in my fingertips; it usually only happens now when I'm distracted.

My fingers throb with a variety of different pains—with ache, sting, burn, numb. My hands shake visibly, and I have to step back to give myself recovery time. My arm drapes over my forehead, to wipe the sweat away, and I breathe in shallow bursts of air.

I have to breathe through my mouth, because I feel lightheaded breathing in through my nose. I don't get enough air that way.

I feel the warmth of exhaustion, dripping slowly like syrup, through my body—but it's not just the satisfaction from the physical activity. It's the exercise, mixed with the relief of getting my anger out and having a clear mind again that turns the warmth into a welcomed ache.

I've realized something else about last night; seeing Tris give up, lying there. I have realized that I am afraid to lose her. How deep that fear runs, though, I'm not sure. I hope I never have to find out. There are so many reasons why, but mostly I am afraid to lose her because of how she has made me feel like I am something good, that I am capable of being a good person.

With her: change, truth, love, resolution... it's all possible. I never paid any attention to it, because 'impossible' was a word I was always told. I had given up before any of it had even started—before I had even gave it the chance to be possible.

Not this time.

XxXxX

I see a blond head weaving through the crowd. My eyes look down to her face; she looks out of place, shrinking her shoulders in like she doesn't want to be here. Maybe she doesn't.

Tris stands beside Christina, and for once her eyes don't wander like usual. Underneath the blue lights, her eye sockets are shadowed out, as well as the dip beneath her cheekbones; she looks strikingly eerie. I notice then, that I can't see the bruises on her skin; but I know they're there. Maybe Christina helped her cover them up.

I take a swig from the bottle in my hands. My mood is significantly better from this morning, but I still don't feel like drinking myself sick, though.

I zoned out of the conversation a while ago; they're mostly comparing their top ten worst dates—something I could contribute to, but all of the girls before Tris don't matter to me. I also never remembered their names anyway.

When I glance back at the group I see that Tris is no longer standing beside Christina. I search for her, over the sea of heads, and spot her grabbing a drink. I smirk a little, because all that's out is beer—I know how she hates it.

I see Uriah touch her arm, and she jumps like she was shot. I would think it's a strange reaction if not for the previous night's events. I want to know what they are saying.

I wonder if Uriah has already asked her about the fight; he wouldn't leave me alone until I told him why. It was me who yelled first.

I feel a small flare of jealously when Tris laughs at something he said. I know Uriah is no threat—he's had his eyes on Marlene for far too long now—but I want to be laughing with Tris, not watching someone else make her smile when I made her cry the night before.

She and Uriah return to the group, and I feel grateful for his brotherly nature; she doesn't get a drink, and it makes me feel relieved. I am choosing the cowards way out, to try and forget my anger. She is taking advantage of the pure motives; friends, games.

I try and steal glances in her direction just to see her, and find that she is staring right back. I wish we were alone—somehow we are always surrounded by people.

Her eyes swim with questions, and it's something I've come to admire about her: that she approaches everything with a question, instead of an answer. Her uncertainty is something close to perception; she's never been outright certain about anything unless she's run through the mechanics of it first.

She looks away only when Christina tries to get her attention back.

I'm not sure how long our eyes share conversation before I finally decide that this distance is too much. I don't need to worry about being subtle—I don't really care for it anymore either—I motion for her to follow me. I don't know if it's the knowledge of the possibility that she will, or the hope that she will that keeps me from looking back but I don't.

We stand in the narrow hallway, just before the gap to the chasm rocks. It's dark, her solid form eclipses the light at the end of the hall out but I have her memorized. The space between us is still too much, because of how close I have held her before, but I sustain it.

Instead, all I can manage is, "hey."

"Hey," she says, sounding a little breathless. The silence drags on again, and the back of my neck feels hot, uncomfortable. I scratch at it to alleviate some of my discomfort.

Some invisible force, like a push, gives me the strength to ask, "We're okay, right?" The question hangs heavy between us. I don't know if she's hesitating to answer, or searching for the right thing to say. I just want her to be honest.

"Yeah, of course," there is no waver in her voice. I feel my muscles relax, and she says, "I told you, Tobias, I'm not about to just walk away. We're okay." I pull her into my arms on the last word. _Okay_. It's such a small word—sometimes it lacks in its purpose, because sometimes things are not okay—but when she says it, all doubt erases from my mind.

Her hands touch my waist, sliding around my back to pull me closer. I hold on to her like she is about to disappear. I couldn't bare it if that were the case; I would beg for one more minute, after each one was up because my time with her is never enough. I need her.

I have admitted to myself this once before, that I love her. I have never loved anyone as much as I love her, and I am sure of her because she is my stability, and my savior. Every night, despite how good things were becoming, making friends and such, I was constantly moving towards night. I didn't think I had a purpose, that I was not worth good things, or pure things. Everything had stalled inside me, and once I met her I realized just how miserable I was before her; I realized just how horrible it felt to be so numb inside.

My hands flatten themselves against the small of her back, and the warmth radiates from her skin through her shirt.

I can't see her that well in this light, but I pull back to look at her anyway.

I love her, I am certain of that. I am just waiting for the right time to tell her.


	14. Certain

CHAPTER 14 – CERTAIN

The envelope feels heavy in my hands.

I thought they had stopped, but of course that was too good to be true. I feel nauseas, like he's been in this building—though I know he hasn't. The letters have been getting sent to Zeke's house, but his mother always sends them to me.

I wish she wouldn't; I wish she would just throw them out.

But there is a part of me that is curious about the new combinations of the twenty-six letters inside. I don't need to open them; I've been perfectly fine leaving them enclosed since the second one he ever sent me. I know what he wants—despite me being on my own now, he still wants me close. However, that is a hell I refuse to walk through.

I wasn't expecting to wake up this morning and see another envelope slipped underneath the door. I was sure they had stopped; that my father had finally given up, but of course I'm wrong again.

I am stronger than the sixteen-year-old boy who was sent off to boarding school three years ago, but somehow my father—despite being miles and miles away—still finds a way to bring me to a crippling numbness.

My fingers crease the paper, and I feel it's weight in my grasp for a few minutes longer before I decide to shove it away with the others in the kitchen drawer.

I bury the contents of the letters in the far back of my mind and leave my apartment to meet Tori for a strongly needed run.

XxXxX

After my run, I had dozed off at my apartment for a while—it didn't do much, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't do something. For now, I won't worry about the letters. My father doesn't exactly know where to find me, and even if he did he wouldn't come for me.

He hasn't.

Tori gave me the night off—as a way for me to 'lighten up'. She thinks I'm this strung up from Tris's fight; I didn't tell her it's now heightened with the weight of my father trying to come back into my life. Where would I even start?

I go to see Zeke in controls; I need to give myself something to do until the pit starts filling up. Zeke looks up from the monitor, "hey. I didn't think you'd be here today."

I shake my head, "I wasn't supposed to be." Zeke grins, placing his hand over his heart.

"You came to see me didn't you?" He jokes, "I'm touched." I just roll my eyes and sit at a computer a few seats away from him; I don't have any important reason for being here, so I watch people crossing the pit, talking to people who are around.

The hum of computers is the only other sound before Zeke says, "you okay?" I turn in my chair, facing him with a scowl. I know why he's asking—I know he is the one who slipped the letter under my door. And Zeke is aware that the envelopes-with-no-sender are from my father.

The first time I ever had alcohol was the night I opened the first letter out of curiosity. The lack of sender information was suspicious—Zeke came back to the dorm and when I handed him the letter he made me get up and join him and Shauna.

I'm grateful that he did that.

He had crumpled the letter up, after I let him read it, and then he made me tear it to pieces. I felt almost weightless after that. I know, now, that I would have tortured myself—reread it a million times to find all of the reasons why I should believe I had to go back—if not for Zeke's lesson in letting things go. Even if only for a while.

"I'm alright," I finally say, sighing, "I don't want to talk about it." He nods, but I don't miss the weary glances in my direction. Zeke only pries if he senses that I'm about to explode from holding things in, constantly turning them over in my head. I guess I'm not that close to mentally combusting yet.

XxXxX

It's almost too crowded to move.

I see Tris at the railings, staring over into the chasm. Despite her knack for being more sociable than me, she still has an introverted side. She's frowning slightly.

I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. My fingers delve into her front pockets, holding her still for a moment. She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. "Hey," I smile, kissing her forehead.

Tris smiles, twisting herself around to face me, "hi. How was working the controls?" I glance over at Zeke, briefly.

"Don't ask," I say, shaking my head. I had only been in there ten minutes when he managed to break the panel from trying to get it back. Tori was not happy with us—she almost reconsidered giving me the night off. It was only because Zeke had really messed it up that she kicked us out of there.

Christina nudges Tris's shoulder; her grin is mischievous, knowing, "Don't go running off just yet," she says. Tris rolls her eyes, turning back to face the group.

"Oh come on, Lynn," Uriah smirks, carelessly draping an arm across her shoulders, "you have got to let it go. You'll kick Peter's ass someday." Then he bursts out laughing, and Lynn lunges for his throat.

I can't help but laugh—he knew the outcome of his statement. I zone in and out of the conversations; the warmth from Tris's body is a little distracting. My hands move up, discreetly, so the others don't take notice, and they meet a small strip of bare skin beneath her shirt. She shifts against me and I smirk to myself.

She peers at me, and says quietly, "I want to talk to you about something." Which how my day has been going, I momentarily panic. But I try to keep calm, and she smiles slightly, "nothing too serious, I promise."

Relief.

She tells Christina we will return; however, if this eventually goes my way, then we've just lied to her. Oh well. I don't miss the look she gives us.

We walk to the back, stopping in a quiet corridor. I lean my back against the wall, "what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Well," she says, watching me, "I told my brother about us..." she picks my hand up, holding it between both of hers. They're cold; I smile, briefly, "...and he wants to meet you sometime soon." Her brother. I don't know too much about him; she doesn't mention him that often, and I can only imagine how that conversation went. I almost laugh, but opt for a smirk, "What?"

"Should I be expecting the big brother talk?" I ask, tugging her closer to me. Tris laughs, and her skin flushes to a bright pink. She nods.

"He says that won't happen," she replies, shaking her head, "but I know my brother..." I notice that when she's anxious she rambles on sometimes. It's kind of adorable. I press off the wall, and cup her face, pressing a kiss to her lips. She sighs, and tries to pull me closer.

I pull back to say, "I'll behave." She laughs again, and places her hand over mine, "we should probably get back before Christina yells at us."

"She can get over it," Tris says, grinning devilishly at me as she stretches up to kiss me again. I hold her in place, wrapping my arms around her waist so that her body is pressed up against mine.

We go back to my apartment, because we want to be alone; I barely get the door closed before she pulls me over to the bed. For a moment, I'm not sure what is happening—she settles into the mattress, pulling me down with her and my carnal instincts take over. I hover over her, holding her hands above her head. I lean in, enough to share the same air, but pull back enough to tease her.

She tilts her head up, grazing her lips across mine and I shiver. I hold her chin between my fingers and kiss her, hard. Her lips part, and she moans quietly.

Most of my weight is pinning her down; I can feel the protruding bones in her hips, digging into mine. Her hands find the skin of my stomach, and all of my muscles tighten at the feel. A groan resonates from the back of my throat and she smiles against my lips, sliding her hands up to my ribs.

An agonizing warmth spreads through my body—I _want_ her. In a way I've only ever felt with her. A specific desire; one only she can satisfy. Tris turns away for air, exposing her neck, and I trace my lips down to the base of her throat.

Her breathing matches mine, short and quick. I feel euphoric, I say, "this is new." My hand finds the curve of her waist, soft and warm. She nods, flattening her palm over my heart. Her hand is freezing, but I welcome it because she is touching me.

The friction between our bodies is intense. My groin aches, and I want nothing more than to give in. I trace my tongue across the contours of her collarbone; her skin tastes clean, like rain. My fingers slip beneath her shirt, and the fabric begins to bunch up as I go higher. She doesn't stop me—she pulls me closer, letting out a content sigh.

I don't miss that she flinches when my hand skims over her ribs. Tris pulls back, and I remove my hands. She pulls her shirt back down, and I frown slightly, sitting up so that my weight is off of her.

"It still hurts," I say. She sits up as I reach under the side of the bed for the salve. She eyes the container for a moment. When I open it, the scent of mint burns my nose—it's a scent I've come to love, from using this stuff on my muscles so much.

I lift her shirt back up and rub the salve into her skin. She closes her eyes. The salve is cold, but it warms up quickly, so I ask, "Does it hurt anywhere else?"

I see her mouth twitch, and she answers, "my shoulder." For a second, I think she is just saying it so that I can touch her. I wouldn't object, but when she pulls her arm out of the sleeve she winces and I know she is being serious.

I tug the sleeve down further, and rub more of it onto her arm. My fingers move on their own accord, tracing the bones in her shoulder; memorizing her.

I'm not sure what I'm doing, until I brush her hair out of the way and touch my lips to the back of her neck. Her skin is hot, pink like she is blushing and she shivers, gasping.

Tris sits back up, turning to face me, and mounts herself over my lap. My hands find her legs, touching the tops of her thighs. She holds my face, before tracing her fingers over every detail; my chin, my jaw, my lips, my nose, and my forehead.

And then her hands find my arms, squeezing lightly, and they glide up beneath my sleeves, touching my skin. She shifts so that she is closer, pressing right up against me and I groan into her mouth. My hips come up, colliding with hers and the friction is almost unbearable. Warmth spreads through my stomach, reaching the very ends of me.

Her hands hold my shoulders, and I feel them shake.

I can feel her pulse, fast and in tune with mine. Tris stalls for a moment, her entire body stiffens and her nails dig into my skin, burning. "I think—I love you," she speaks quickly, and I am unsure, at first, if I even heard her correctly. But then she says, more firmly, "I love you."

All I can do is stare at her. Because I know how much courage it takes to say those words; even to admit them to yourself first. Her eyes are piercing, holding mine in their gaze and I can't look away. I can only hear my heart racing in this moment.

I didn't know how I was going to tell her. But now that she has said it, I know it's the right time to tell her. I have fallen in love with her—and I am absolutely sure of my choice. I pry her hands away from my arms and guide them over my chest, stopping them just above my beating heart.

As I let go of her hands, she keeps them there and I touch her waist again, holding her still. Her eyes are staring at me, wide and waiting. I speak evenly, and whisper, "I love you, too." I hear her breathing pick up, and her eyes glass over, and I kiss her, hard, with every fiber of my being. I tuck her hair back behind her ear. Grinning, I say, "You have no idea how long I've wanted to tell you that."

Tris laughs, and in this moment there is nothing more magical. Her arms snake around my neck, and she kisses me again. This kiss is powerful, and this time we are not holding anything back. I touch her with certainty, squeezing the tops of her knees and she grins against my lips.

Her fingers are impatient, they pull at the bottom of my shirt. I let go of her to reach behind me and pull the shirt off, over my head. We don't have to go that far tonight, but I won't deprive her of little things either. Her palms lay flat, sliding up over my skin.

I kiss her, slowly, and then pull back, "I want to wait, just a little bit longer. Until your bruises have healed, and you're not sore, and we've both got clear minds." I _don't_ want to wait—but I know I need to. We need to, for now, at least. Tris nods, and rests her head against my shoulder, pressing a kiss to my neck.

I can wait.


	15. Caleb

CHAPTER 15 – CALEB

I wake up to her scent filling my head.

Tris is curled up against my side, her lips pressed to my neck and her breaths fan across my skin. She is sleeping in one of my t-shirts. The black material makes the smooth, creamy skin of her legs and her stomach brighter.

My fingers fumble with the bottom of the shirt, grazing the skin above her hip and I feel her shift. Her legs straighten out, and they look longer; my mouth goes dry, briefly. Tris tilts her chin up and kisses my jaw, she says, "good morning."

I smile, "good morning." I look down at her; her hair is sprawled out across the pillows, tangling in some places. There are no pillow creases in her cheek, but the side of her face is red from leaning against my shoulder. Her eyes are wide, alert, despite just waking up.

I run my fingers down the bumps of her spine, down to her legs and she shivers, arching her back when I trail up again. I see her smirk, and then I hear her laugh, burying her face into the dip between my neck and shoulder. I love when she laughs.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask, tickling her waist. She tries to pry my hands away.

"I was thinking about our date. And how you were determined to figure out the color." She bites her lip, like she is embarrassed and I grin at her, before peering down at her legs. What I wouldn't give to keep her like this for just a little longer—so that I could just admire her body. Each curve and muscle, and how smooth her skin looks. The delicious blush that colors her face and chest.

"Looks like don't have to guess, now," I tease. She rolls her eyes at me, and I chuckle. I draw her closer to me, so that she is sitting in my lap.

But I didn't think this through, because I am still in my jeans and she is only in my shirt. That agonizing ache flares up in my gut, spreading to my groin and I hold her still for a moment; I'm afraid of breaking if she moves.

Neither of us has to even think of what to do—with her, my instincts take over. Tris's palms flatten out against my stomach, sending electricity to flow beneath my skin. My hands touch the small of her back and I press her body up against mine. They slide beneath her shirt, lifting the fabric almost halfway up her body and the feeling of her skin against mine is unreal, intense.

Her stomach is soft, but sturdy with muscle beneath. Much different from the tough of mine, and the sparks that transfer back and forth between our skin is merciless.

I _need_ her. She makes trying to wait so much harder.

I can only kiss her, and I am desperate to find a way to forego air because pulling away feels almost like committing a sin. She sighs into it, giving me just enough air to keep us there for another minute. Tris pulls back after a moment, but my lips find the soft skin of her neck.

I kiss her everywhere; her collarbones, the hollow in her throat, until I reach her shoulder, tugging her arm out of the neckline of the shirt. My lips linger on the bone jutting out, and her hands tighten on my waist. Her shoulders drop with the quiet moan she lets out.

"Do we have to get up?" She asks breathlessly. I laugh into her shoulder, and her fingers dig into my skin again, harder.

"We don't have to," I whisper against her jaw. She kneels, easing some of the tension in my groin, so that she is taller than me. Her hair makes a barrier around us. Only strips of sunlight make it through; her face is outlined in gold, giving her an enchanting glow. She is absolutely beautiful.

She kisses me, her thumbs stroking painstakingly slow across my jaw. I slide my hands down to her hips, trailing them down her thighs to her knees. I was right, her skin is smooth like porcelain but soft as silk and I can't stop touching her.

If I could have these mornings with her forever I would never ask for anything else.

Her teeth gently bite down on my bottom lip, and I can't help but grin at how sexy she can be when she's comfortable enough. I tuck her hair back behind her ear, and she pulls herself off of me, sitting across from me on the bed.

For most of the morning, we stay like that. We talk about everything and nothing in particular. A few times I steal a kiss because I find myself staring at her in awe whenever she lights up about something she likes. For the most part, she talks about her family and though I feel disappointed at my lack of good family memories, I listen because I don't believe I have ever seen her more happy than when she is thinking of them.

She hugs her knees to her chest, and rests her chin on them. She looks like she is daydreaming, and I imagine she is.

When I glance at the clock, I see that it's just after eleven. We still have most of the day ahead of us, so I decide to get up and take a shower.

The water is soothing, even though I already feel relaxed this morning. I don't take too long; I am finished cleaning up fairly quickly and I shut the water off, stepping out to dry off. I get changed into a new pair of jeans, and the black sweater I let her borrow a while ago. I'm slightly disappointed that it no longer has her scent.

When I step out of the bathroom, Tris is sitting on my bed, fully dressed. I repress my sigh—it looks like she is doing the same thing. I bite back my smirk, and crouch beside the bed so we are on the same plane. I hold her face in my hands and kiss her slowly, enjoying the feel of her mouth fitted to mine.

I have been strong enough to wait, but my patience is slowly crumbling.

XxXxX

The next week that follows drags by too slowly. I don't see Tris at all; she has school to get out of the way, while Tori has kept Zeke and me busy up in controls since Zeke busted the panel. We have to work manually now, typing in codes and logging footage in. It's tedious, but thankfully it keeps me busy.

I have barely thought about my father's letter. It tries to sneak back in, but Tori always has something new for me to do.

I try to keep my work going until I desperately need sleep. The over-exhaustion keeps me from being miserable, because I am almost too tired to realize that I am sleeping alone. Tris's scent has been getting lighter and lighter each night, and I know that when it's finally gone I will think of every way possible to get her alone again.

Unfortunately, a few more days pass without seeing her. I only catch glimpses of her on the monitors. She's only been on the training room footage, so I know that when she's not training, she hasn't been here. "You're just fun to work with when you aren't getting anything for a week and a half," Zeke mumbles, glaring at me slightly. I know it's because I've sighed at least three dozen times since our shift started. He's usually bored enough as it is, especially now that the panel still needs to be replaced. My sulking mood isn't helping.

I don't tell him that before this week and a half gap, I wasn't really 'getting anything' anyway but I refrain from even commenting. He doesn't need to know that—and I don't need to be ragged on about it either.

I am just hoping that Tris will be here tonight. Tori has given us the night off, and I want to see her.

XxXxX

"Where do you think you're going?" Eric asks, slamming into my shoulder. I turn to glare at him, and I see that he's gotten new piercings put in. Zeke stops beside me, getting ready to step in.

"To the pit," I answer calmly, "we have the night off."

Eric scowls, biting down on the piercing in his lip. He looks like he wants to say something, but then his usual, malicious grin is back and he asks, "how about that missing footage, _Four_?" The way he drags my name out, like nails on a chalkboard.

"You're still on that?" I grit out, shaking my head, "nothing like beating a dead horse, Eric. It's been months. I told you, if I knew anything about it you would be the first to know." I'm not sure why he cares though, considering he doesn't even work in controls. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if you had snuck in an deleted it yourself, just to make me look at fault."

I've been through all of those logs—the user was one I didn't recognize; I know it's not the best idea to call him out on it, but I'm tired of his games.

Eric's expression hardens, "watch it... _Eaton_. Wouldn't want anything personal to _accidentally_ become basic knowledge." For years he's nearly crossed that line; though it still worries me that he might, I'm not sure why he hasn't yet. He's had every chance possible.

Eric stalks off, toward the tattoo parlor, and I assume it's to talk to Tori; to give Zeke and me more work, probably. It may bother Zeke, but Eric can do his worst. I know how to persuade Tori, if I need to.

"Looks like you can lighten up," Zeke smirks, pointing across the room, "your girl's here." I see Tris standing beside Lynn. Her hair hangs loose, and she wears a tight black jacket that hugs her waist.

She is smiling, I smile back and when I am close enough I pull her into a tight hug, rocking us back and forth, slowly. I kiss just behind her ear, and whisper, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," she says, "...I need to talk to you." I tense up. She has only said this to me a small number of times—it never gets easier to hear.

I pull back, thankful when she meets my eyes instead of looking away, "What's wrong?"

She chews into her lip, before she asks, "Why didn't you tell me you confronted Eric? After my fight with Peter?" Where did she hear about that? Briefly, I glance at the others; they haven't noticed this quiet conversation yet.

I swallow, "how did you know about that?" Tris stares at me, and then her eyes narrow.

"Where you ever going to tell me about that?" I didn't think I would ever need to. It wasn't like I had fought Eric again.

I shake my head, "it's not important. I was angry... that he did that, especially because Peter is almost twice your size. I didn't fight him... and after I calmed down, I realized that of course he would do that." I want to continue—I want to tell her that I was afraid something like that was going to happen. Because I didn't see the need for her to fight.

Tris looks down then, her voice is quiet, "I found out from Christina. She thought I knew. It kind of hurts that they all knew, and you didn't think it was something you could tell me. I wouldn't have been angry—,"

"—that's the thing, Tris," I say hastily. She would have been. "you say that, but I know you. We are almost the same with that—you would have been angry. We were both angry...I'm pretty sure you haven't forgotten our fight." She seems to contemplate what I am saying, wearing into her lip again.

Tris frowns, "I don't like it when you think you can't tell me things." I find it a little ironic that she says that, because she still hasn't been honest with me about not fighting Peter. But instead of pressing _that_ issue, I sigh; I should have known that she was going to find out sooner or later. I can't blame her for feeling insecure, because I know that I would want her to tell me if this situation were reversed.

I touch her chin, lifting her gaze up to mine, "It's not that I think I _can't_... it's just that I think I shouldn't. At least not until stuff like that blows over."

She smiles slightly, and says, "Well for my sake, just tell me. Please?" I can't promise it, not yet, because there may be things to come where I know telling her at a better time will come in to play. But I nod, and reach down for her hand.

XxXxX

The next morning, Tris is waiting outside my door. For a moment, I'm unsure why she is here. "Caleb...?" She says, slowly. I nod.

"Right," I had almost forgotten. That conversation seems so far away now. She waits for me while I get dressed, and then we head back to the school together. The closer we get, the faster the pulse beneath her skin gets. Her hand also holds mine in a death grip as her brother comes into view.

Her brother is tall, almost the same height as me by the looks of him. His hair is neat, despite how curly it is. His green eyes are alert, looking at our clasped hands; they analyze me next. His expression is almost unreadable.

My hand is asleep, being pricked at by pins and needles from Tris's tight hold. I squeeze hers, trying to put some life back into mine, and I say quietly, "relax, Tris." It's not hard to guess why she is nervous. We are both walking into something unknown; but at the moment, I am doing a little better at concealing my worries.

Tris clears her throat, and says, "Caleb. This is—," she hesitates, and I know why. We never had an understanding about my name. When we are alone, she calls me Tobias. But around the others, she refers to me as Four.

"—Tobias," I say. From the corner of my eye, Tris breathes a sigh of relief.

"Caleb," he replies, stretching his hand out. I've never had much practice with shaking hands, but I remember the first time I met Jeanine; how weak my grip was. I grab his hand, and shake firmly. I can feel Tris shaking beside me, like she is anticipating this to go all wrong.

"Tris, how about Caleb and I talk, and we will come and get you when we're done?" I am met with curious looks from the both of them; Tris, who looks unsure but also relieved, and Caleb, who looks suspicious. It might be easier on her if she doesn't have to stand here, waiting for something to happen.

She nods, and reluctantly lets go of my hand, "Okay. Uh, I'll just wait inside," she goes into the library, and then it's just Caleb and me. It's odd that they are related, with only few months in between them, but don't necessarily look the same. I see some of the same quirks in Caleb though.

"So," Caleb says awkwardly, burying his hands in his pockets, "you're my sister's boyfriend." The word _boyfriend_ seems so heavy the way he says it, but so weak compared to the relationship that Tris and I have now.

I nod once, "In the flesh."

I watch him for a moment. It's odd, almost visibly seeing someone's mind work like the gears of a watch. He seems to be measuring the weight of each question, deciding how or when he'll ask a certain one. "How long have you and my sister been together?" _Easy_.

"A few months," I reply. The first time I had kissed her was the end of September; it's December now.

"How did you two meet?"

This question certainly has an interesting story behind it. One I'm not sure I should tell every aspect of. Well, it wouldn't be hard to bend the truth a little. "Ah... well, she was trying to get away from another guy, while I was just with some friends, and we ran into each other." Caleb nods, like it's a satisfactory answer, but continues.

"You don't think you're a little too old for her?" At first, I honestly did. Though now I know that's not the case.

"Not to sound like I'm discrediting your concern, but two years isn't much of a difference," I say slowly, "and I think it's her choice."

He sighs, "look, I don't know what goes on with my sister—it should probably be basic knowledge. I assume she's always with you, so maybe you know more about her now than I do... It's like up until we arrived here, we were almost unitary. But she's changed, and I'm not saying it's execrable... I just don't want her to get hurt; I don't want to see somebody messing around with her. She may be tough enough to take care of herself, but she's still my little sister."

"I'm not going to hurt her, Caleb," I answer. "I'm not messing around with her, either. I'm serious about Tris." The same overlook, a scientific observation of my character; I'm not sure if he believes me—though I'm not sure _why_ he wouldn't. I don't want to blatantly tell him what I'm sure he's already thought—I know he has assumed my intentions, my 'ulterior motives' if they can be called that. I don't have any, at least not that I'm aware of.

_Don't worry, Caleb. I'm not trying to get sex from your sister_.

Yeah, _that_ would go over well. Because even though I wouldn't be lying, throwing that sentence around so flippantly would probably get me an earful from both of them. My intentions with Tris have nothing to do with taking advantage of her. I'm not the nicest person at times, but I'm also not a narcissist. I will always put Tris's feelings before mine, that's why I don't try to push her into anything she doesn't want to do. However, I'm not sure how I can convey those truths to Caleb—he seems to process things differently. He gets a different interpretation.

Tris processes things by importance, experience, or basic knowledge. She goes through every option, whether it makes sense or not—occasionally opting for the dead end because her mindset is one of nothing ventured, nothing gained. But she still strives on logic.

Whereas Caleb seems to process things by a theoretical perspective; a scientific comprehension, breaking things down until they reach one static end. Caleb strives on intellect, I'm noticing.

I see what he means: they once thought the same, maybe because they were a lot closer. But now that they've found separate paths, Tris leans more towards independence, while Caleb stays where he's comfortable. Tris enjoys breaking the physical boundaries, while he partakes in figuring out the algorithms of the mental ones.

They've become polar opposites.

And I can see by the slight pout on Caleb's face that he doesn't understand her reasons. It's strange, seeing two people of the same biological bloodline, so close in age, have two completely different personalities. Almost like they aren't related at all.

"My sister doesn't always agree with me—" he starts, sounding defeated. I laugh—she hardly ever agrees with me. Caleb gives me a curious look, "—what?"

"I hate to break it to you," I say, "but if you think she's any different with me, you're wrong." I won't mention our arguments, I'll let him think what he will about that. Tris is not afraid to disagree with me—she's definitely tough enough to take care of herself. He ponders what I said, smirking slightly.

"That must get tiresome," Caleb replies.

Now I smirk, "...sometimes." These last few times have been exhausting, fighting with her. I don't particularly enjoy it; yelling back and forth, or seeing her cry. If I could avoid all of our arguments, I would. But that would not be the Tris Prior that I love; I wouldn't recognize her if she didn't try and challenge me at every opportunity. If she wasn't almost always right about something.

Caleb laughs, "she and I never really fought. There were occasional times, over material things, but we fought because annoying each other was natural." Almost like Tris and I; except we seem to fight more because we care about each other, not because we annoy each other. He sighs, scowling, "I guess it still kind of is." I don't know what he means by that; is he annoyed with Tris? Or is it the other way around? Maybe from both sides?

"Does her being with me annoy you?" I decide, speaking slowly. His eyes flicker up to my face briefly, before he shrugs and looks down at his shoes.

"Maybe at first," he answers, candidly, "but you're not as bad as I was expecting. I don't think Beatrice would appreciate me saying that, although, it's true." _Beatrice_. That sounds too formal for her—she seems caged with her full name. Albeit, it's not an unappealing name but _Tris_ just sounds better for her.

I don't know what his expectations were—I wonder if it's best that I don't. I internally cringe at the thought that maybe he was anticipating someone like Eric. However, I am assuming that he trusts his sister better than that; or at the very least, he knows her better than that.

I also wonder if he'd still say that about me if I told him about the knife-throwing, the Ferris Wheel, or spending so much time in my apartment that she's actually spent nights. I won't cross that line right now—maybe someday, should they ever slip out.

"Then again, I guess I kind of annoyed her with all of the questions," he says, "I might have gone a little overboard with the older-brother role."

"Only Tris can answer that," I reply, amused. She was definitely embarrassed by it. Caleb turns toward the doors, but glances over his shoulder at me.

"What did she tell you?" He pulls the door open, and I see Tris look up from the table she's at.

I try to bite back my smirk, and say, "ah. Well, she said that I should be expecting the big-brother speech." Caleb shakes his head, but he laughs. Tris stands up, her eyes flickering to me.

"So...?" She asks, glancing between us. I see Caleb smile, and I nod, weaving my fingers through hers at her side.

"I think we're all set."


End file.
